


All In

by onceinabluemoon13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 02:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceinabluemoon13/pseuds/onceinabluemoon13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Molly agreed to accompany Sherlock on a case in Las Vegas, she had no idea what she was getting herself into. A Sherlolly take on the "Married in Vegas" trope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Several weeks ago, I proposed this story on Tumblr and everyone seemed to be really supportive of the idea. It will be a multi-chapter fic, but I honestly have no idea how long. Most likely, it will be longer than my previous multi-chapter, John's Girl. Since I am heading into winter break, I hope to be able to update quickly, but updates may slow once school starts again. I urge you all to be patient and please follow this story! I'm pretty proud of this chapter and what I have planned for the rest of the story! I originally posted this on Fanfiction.net, where I have several of my other stories posted as well. This is the first time I am posting anything on AO3.
> 
> I imagine this taking place a few months after Sherlock's return and about a month after John and Mary's wedding.

Sometimes, Molly Hooper wondered what horrors she had committed in a past life to warrant her current unhappiness with her life. Sure, she had a job she loved at one of the best hospitals in London. She lived in a modest apartment, comfortably within in her means, with a cat who adored her. And she had quite a few close friends, who she saw on a fairly regular basis. Okay, so maybe she should amend her previous statement.

What horrors had she committed to warrant her current unhappiness with her  _romantic_  life? Or lack thereof. She just  _had_  to meet Sherlock Holmes on that fateful day seven years ago.

He had stalked into the morgue, demanding to see the body on which she had just completed her first solo autopsy. He had quickly made several deductions about the man's life and death (most of which could also be read in her report,  _thank you very much_ ) and turned to the dazed detective inspector beside him with a smug grin on his beautiful face.

When he had spun abruptly and focused his full gaze on her, Molly was immediately captivated. Completely and utterly. When he waltzed out of the morgue a few minutes later (his only words to her a hurried, "Pleasure working with you, Dr. Hooper. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective"), he had taken her heart with him. Molly realized that he had never had the decency to return it.

The man in question was currently pounding impatiently on her door, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it was  _three o'clock in the bloody morning_. Molly rubbed her eyes as she scrambled out of bed, silently cursing the man. She unchained the lock and put on the fiercest scowl she could manage in her drowsy state of mind before pulling the door open.

Sherlock took no notice of her obvious irritation, breezing past her and into the cheerily-furnished sitting room. He made no move to remove his coat, and, for that, Molly was grateful. _Won't be staying long, then_. She hunched her shoulders, re-closed the door, and followed the man with whom she had so stupidly fallen in love.

Sherlock was pacing the floor in the center of the room. He stopped and turned to her when she sat down on her little sofa, pulling an extra blanket around herself for warmth. He looked her up and down.  _Examining me like I'm one of his experiments_ , she thought bitterly. Finally, he seemed to register her highly irate expression.

"Sorry to barge in like this, Molly, but –"

"But what, Sherlock?! 'Molly probably has nothing better to do so I think I'll just pop over to her flat for a chat IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT?!'" He winced at her outburst, eyes widened in shock, and Molly mentally high-fived herself.

She breathed heavily for a moment, glaring at him as she attempted to calm herself. "I was sleeping, Sherlock," she said when her heart finally stopped racing.

"I know, and I apologize. But I require your assistance on a new case," he uttered sheepishly, obviously fearful that she would explode on him again.

"And it can't wait until the morning?"

"Unfortunately, no, it cannot. Our flight leaves in an hour. You will want to pack for at least three days, just in case."

Molly jumped up from her reclining position at that, dropping the blanket on the floor and stepping slowly forward. When she stood right in front of him, she crossed her arms and scrunched her eyes at him. "What do you mean, 'our flight'?" Her voice was misleadingly soft, but her tone betrayed her impending anger. Sherlock shrunk back in panic and quickly tried to explain the situation.

"A former acquaintance contacted me earlier this evening. She has been living in the States under a pseudonym, and a particularly intriguing mystery has caught her interest. Or so she says. She was very secretive about the details. Anyway, she wants me to help her solve it, after which she has promised never to contact me again. I need an assistant, and, as John is currently preoccupied with his wife, you are the next best option."

"Well, gee, thanks," she muttered. She ignored his confused look and squared her shoulders. She should have known the moment she heard him knocking that she would agree to anything he asked of her. She had never been able to resist him or his blasted, perfect cheekbones.

"Fine. Where are we going?"

He rewarded her with a blinding smile, one that, while still rare, was making more appearances since his return from the dead. It still took her breath away.

"Las Vegas."

XXXXX

Molly was woken by a hand roughly shaking her. When they had first boarded the airplane, she had attempted to listen while Sherlock filled her in on what he knew about the case. It wasn't much.

Instead, she drifted off while he droned on about saving the life of a dominatrix in Karachi. She tried to block out his voice as he told her how he had helped the woman fake her death, much like Molly had helped him. She bit down her resentment at the knowledge that Sherlock had done the same thing for this woman that she had done for him.

The last thought that ran through Molly's mind before she fell asleep was that Sherlock clearly cared for this woman, more than he could ever care about a bumbling pathologist with terrible fashion sense. Images of Sherlock and a beautiful, faceless woman, bodies entangled while he professed his love, haunted her dreams.

"Wake up, Molly! We have arrived!" The deep baritone that starred so profoundly in her nightmares caught her attention, and Molly slowly opened her eyes, groaning as the sunlight hit them.

She was surprised to find Sherlock's face a hairs-breadth from hers, his hands still gripping her shoulders. She stared up into brilliant blue orbs and lost herself in his beauty. She thought she heard his breath hitch as they gazed at each other, but shook her head to clear it. Of course, she was imagining things. Probably due to having to sleep uncomfortably on an airplane. Still, their eyes remained locked on each other's, neither of them moving for several moments.

Suddenly, she remembered that she was supposed to be annoyed with him and pulled away, moving around him to stand up. Their bodies brushed for an uncomfortable instant before Sherlock stepped into the aisle and grabbed her wrist tightly.

Sherlock had already removed her bag from the overhead bin and was dragging her towards the exit. Molly hurried to keep up with him but could not stop the excitement from bubbling up within her. She had never been outside of Europe before today, and now here she was, jetting off on an adventure in the United States with Sherlock! She giggled giddily to herself until a look from the detective wiped the grin right off of her face. Molly gulped and followed along, head hanging in shame.

A car was waiting for them in front of the airport, a man (presumably the driver) standing outside. Sherlock quickly placed their luggage onto the back seat while Molly slid into the passenger seat. She smiled again at the oddity of sitting on the right side of the car instead of the left. She watched curiously as Sherlock handed the driver a note and climbed into the seat beside her. She felt apprehension well up in her; could Sherlock even drive?

Apparently he could because he started the ignition and pulled into the heavy line of traffic leaving the airport.

Molly found herself wholly fascinated by the sights of Las Vegas as Sherlock expertly maneuvered the car through the city. She briefly wondered if he had been here before, but bit down the urge to ask him. So far, she had refused to ask him any questions about his time away from London. The troubled gleam in his eyes when he returned told her more than words ever could. She turned her attention back to the wonderful scenes around her instead.

Molly gasped in delight when they reached the most stunning hotel she had ever seen. Sherlock had mentioned they had accommodations at The Venetian Las Vegas, but she was completely unprepared for the image before them. It looked as though they had driven straight into Italy. Molly squealed as she saw the water-filled channels and the gondolas carting around excited tourists. She glanced over to see Sherlock smirking at her obvious pleasure.

He pulled the car into the valet parking area and stepped out of the car. Molly pushed her door open and got out as well. Sherlock had already retrieved their bags and handed the car key to the valet. The detective tipped the young man and gestured to Molly to lead the way into the main lobby.

She stood with the luggage and examined everything around her while Sherlock went to check in at the desk. The male receptionist blushed as Sherlock leaned towards him, and Molly grinned. Sherlock really had no idea of the effect he had on other people. He retrieved the room keys and walked back over to her, looking at her in confusion when he saw her expression. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," she answered, hiding her smirk behind her hand. Sherlock stared at her for another minute before shrugging and turning towards the lifts.

"We are on the tenth floor. We will drop our bags in the suite, and then we are meeting my acquaintance at Bouchon for supper." She nodded her head in acknowledgment, and they spent the rest of the trip upstairs in silence. Anticipation filled Molly as she thought about all of the sights she wanted to see.  _Sherlock invited you along to help him with a case_ , she reminded herself. _You are here for business, not pleasure._

Sherlock did not give her much time to gaze around the suite before he pushed a bundle of dark blue fabric into her hands and told her to change. He had already started unbuttoning his shirt, and Molly had to force herself not to stare as she trudged into the en suite bathroom, gasping once again at the luxurious tub.

XXXXX

Half an hour later, Molly was dressed and ready to go downstairs, but she was stalling, staring at herself in the mirror anxiously. Molly was pleased to discover that Sherlock had selected a gorgeous dress. The sleeveless, ocean-blue design hugged her curves until her waist, where it expanded out in waves, stopping just below her knees. She had paired it with a matching pearl earring and necklace set, left to her by her mother. Her hair fell over her shoulders in waves. She had decided to apply only a minimal amount of makeup, but she could admit that she looked pretty.

She could not help but wonder, however, what Sherlock's mysterious lady-friend would prefer to wear. She also doubted if Sherlock would even notice her presence as the woman clearly fascinated him.

She heard Sherlock calling her name and hesitantly opened the door, stepping out so that he could assess her appearance. His gaze raked up and down, his cupid bow mouth hanging open as he examined her. He made a small noise as though about to speak but thought better of it and remained silent. He strode forward, and soon he was looming over her. His hand reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, lingering for a moment on her neck.

She gulped and scrutinized his appearance. He was wearing a suit ( _of course_ ) that seemed tailored perfectly for him. She was surprised to note that his tie was almost the exact shade of her dress. Anyone who observed them would assume they were together.

He cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to his face. "You look… adequate, Molly. This should be fine." Disappointment filled the pathologist, and she tried not to show her hurt as she grabbed her purse.

"Let's go, then," she told him, refusing to meet his eyes.

The trip downstairs was also spent in silence, but it was filled with much more tension than previously.

XXXXX

When they entered the restaurant, Sherlock bypassed the hostess stand and marched over to a table where a woman was sitting alone, perusing the menu. Molly's jaw dropped at the woman's appearance.

She was inarguably the most beautiful woman Molly had ever seen.  _No wonder Sherlock likes her so much_. Her blood red dress clung to her figure, coming to mid-thigh, and matched the shade of her nails. Molly had thought she looked pretty before in the room, but now she felt wholly inadequate. She did not deserve to sit at the same table as this woman.

The woman glanced up at the sound of their approaching feet, and a devilish smirk bloomed on her flawless red lips as she noticed Sherlock striding over. She held one perfectly-manicured hand out to the detective to grab, but he ignored it and sat down across from her. The woman tsked in displeasure but dropped her hand.

Molly shuffled up to the table uncertainly, and the mystery woman turned her attention to the pathologist instead. If possible, her grin widened even more as she drank in the sight of Molly. Molly was reminded of a predator surveying its prey. She stroked the seat next to her, and Molly took it nervously, now seated between the woman and Sherlock.

"You can call me Yvonne, love. And you are?"

"M-molly Hooper. I performed her post mortem, didn't I?" This last question was directed to Sherlock, who merely nodded. Yvonne clapped her hands together at this news, red nails clacking against each other and eyes crinkling in delight.

"Ooh, I do love intelligence in a woman! Or a man. I am  _exceptionally_  flexible, dear. But of course you would be clever! I should have expected nothing less from a pet of Sherlock's." Molly huffed and was about to correct her assumption, but Sherlock spoke first.

"Why did you call me here, Woman? I thought you had a case for me."

"All in good time, Sherlock, dear. First, I want to know more about your little pathologist. She looks simply  _ravishing_." Molly shuddered at her tone but was spared from answering by the arrival of their waiter.

Molly looked down at the menu, and her eyes widened at the selections. She did not know too much about American currency, but the prices seemed excessive. She glanced at Sherlock, who squeezed her hand beneath the table. Molly took that to mean to order whatever she wanted and he would cover the bill.

Sherlock and Yvonne both selected items that Molly could barely pronounce, and the waiter turned to her, smiling gently at her worried expression. "I'll have the… ummm… the Poulet Rôti." She stumbled over the words, but the waiter understood her meaning. 'Yvonne' selected a bottle of `wine and winked at the waiter, sliding a finger down his arm. He smiled and walked away to place their order. Sherlock merely rolled his eyes at the exchange.

"So, Miss Hooper –" Yvonne began.

" _Doctor_  Hooper," interrupted Sherlock, glaring at Yvonne. She seemed particularly intrigued by his reaction, her immaculately sculpted eyebrows shooting up in interest. "Now, tell me why we are here. What is this case?"

Yvonne threw back her head and laughed. She did not stop until the waiter returned with their wine. He offered to let them taste it first, but she waved him away, pouring liquid into the three glasses herself. She lifted hers to take a sip, but Sherlock stopped her, removing the glass from her grip and setting it back on the table. "Oh very well. I  _was_  hoping to eat first." She sighed loudly.

"The funny thing, Mr. Holmes, is that there is no case. I wanted to invite you to have dinner with me. I've been so lonely, Mr. Holmes, and I knew you wouldn't accept if I simply asked you. So, I enticed you with a mystery to compel you to come visit.

But alas, it would seem you desire a different…cuisine, than what I can offer. My invitation still stands, however, if you don't mind sharing. I do love dessert." Her eyes gleamed and her wicked grin returned at the furious look on Sherlock's face. He grabbed Molly's hand under the table again, gripping it hard enough to hurt.

Molly was perplexed. "We're already having dinner…" she stuttered out, concerned about the energy flowing between her companions. She had never felt more like a third wheel than at this moment, imagining herself an antelope caught between battling lions.

"Although I am sure Dr. Hooper is flattered by your interest, we decline your offer."

Yvonne turned to Molly, amusement evident on her face. "Well,  _Dr. Hooper_ , it seems you are far more fascinating than my original assessment of you indicated. I applaud you." She tipped her head to the pathologist, who was still trying to figure out what was going on.

"Th-thank you, Yvonne. I think…." Yvonne reached over the table and grabbed Molly's face, planting a wet kiss to her mouth. Molly barely had time to understand what had happened before Yvonne was standing up, grabbing her bag.

"Well, since my… services are no longer wanted, I think I will leave you two lovebirds to yourselves." Molly started to interrupt but Yvonne began talking again before she was able.

"It was a pleasure as always to see you, Mr. Holmes. I will keep my earlier promise to you. You will never hear from me again. Dr. Hooper, it is a shame we cannot get to know each other more… intimately. Goodbye." She leaned over and delicately placed a kiss to Sherlock's cheek. He made no indication that it affected him, but Molly felt his grasp on her stiffen minutely. "Oh! Do enjoy the wine! It really is superb!"

With that final statement, the beautiful woman turned and sauntered out of the restaurant, her hips swaying seductively. Molly admired her ability to walk with such confidence in her stilettos. Molly had elected to wear flats specifically so she did not trip and embarrass herself in front of Sherlock.

At that moment, their food was delivered. Sherlock explained to the baffled man that the other woman had needed to leave, and the waiter swiftly took Yvonne's food away. Sherlock stared down at his plate, and, not for the first time, Molly wondered what he was thinking about. Was he regretting letting the woman go?

Molly picked up her wine glass and chugged the red liquid. She caught Sherlock's eye, and he gazed at her in a way he never had before. Her stomach churned, but more in anticipation than fear.

"Since we don't have to work a case anymore, do you think we could go look around the city a bit? I've always wanted to visit Las Vegas!" Instead of answering, he released her hand and grabbed the bottle of wine. She smiled shyly at him as he refilled her glass.

"Well, you heard the Woman. Let's have a drink while we are eating."

"Then we can go sight-seeing?!" Her enthusiasm brought about his own smile as he looked at her across the table.

"Yes, Molly. Then we can go sight-seeing."

"Thank you, Sherlock!" She kissed his cheek, painfully reminded of the woman who had done the same thing only moments ago. She waved aside her insecurities and clinked her class with his.

XXXXX

The first thing Molly registered when she awoke the next morning was that she was exceptionally warm. She snuggled closer into the pillow, squeezing the blankets closer to her and letting out a soft sigh of contentment.

When the blanket around her middle squeezed back, however, her eyes flew open in shock. The blue dress she had worn to dinner the previous evening was lying forgotten on the armchair beside the bed. Molly tried to remember what had happened last night, but everything after dinner was a blur.

She reached up to brush a stray hair off of her cheek, wincing when a tough object scraped against her skin. She looked down to see the sunlight glittering off of a gold band on the second finger of her left hand. She gasped quietly and slowly turned towards her mysterious bed mate.

Her eyes scanned a very fit, very masculine chest, before they rose to meet the icy blue gaze of one Sherlock Holmes, who was fiddling with the matching gold ring on his own left hand. Realization dawned on the pathologist, and one word flew to the front of her mind.

 _Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also wanted to say that I do not think Irene is prettier than Molly. Both are beautiful actresses in their own rights. That being said, I do think Molly would compare herself to Irene, and this story is going to be largely from her perspective. Please leave a review and let me know what you thought! If you see any errors, please let me know so I can fix them! I love every single person who reads my stories!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up about this story: the relationship between Molly and Sherlock is not going to develop overnight, so be prepared for slow growth! I hope you stick with me anyway! That being said, here is Chapter 2. I hope you enjoy it!

_"Fuck."_

She gasped, and her hand covered her mouth.  _Oh. Had she spoken that aloud?_

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up into his dark locks, whether in admiration of her ability to so eloquently sum up their situation or in shock at hearing such crude language fall from her too-small lips, Molly couldn't tell.

Sherlock's gaze drifted downwards from her face, and Molly was suddenly acutely aware that her body was completely bare under the sheets. She pulled away from Sherlock, gripping the blanket tighter around herself.

A small part of her could not really condemn him for his curiosity, however. It was all she could do not to let her eyes linger on the exposed segments of his porcelain skin normally hidden by his clothing.

She glared at him for his indecent behavior, and he at least managed to look ashamed of himself. She turned her head, trying to focus on remembering the night before, and not the naked consulting detective sharing the bed with her. The heat emanating from him in waves sent tingles through her. Apparently, her body recalled the previous evening, even if she could not.

Molly felt rather than heard the rustling of the sheets beside her and looked over to see Sherlock sitting up against the back of the bed. He rubbed his temple with one hand, grimacing, and Molly wondered if his headache was as ghastly as her own.

Hesitantly, the pathologist lifted herself up and settled against the head-board as well, fiddling with a loose thread in the flower-covered duvet. She knew her hands would tremble if she did not keep them occupied.

Both the detective and pathologist remained silent for a long time, the only sounds in the suite their breathing as they inhaled and exhaled, trying to make sense of their predicament. Molly lost herself in her thoughts as she momentarily disregarded the man sitting beside her.

_Maybe this is a prank_ , Molly theorized.  _Maybe Sherlock and I got monumentally pissed last night and thought it would be humorous to buy ourselves a pair of wedding bands. Yes, that could be it._

Even as the idea crossed her mind, Molly tossed it aside. Vague recollections, of a cheaply furnished chapel and the cloying scent of roses, swirled through her brain, but she could not latch on to any single memory. It was as if they were taunting her, purposely flitting just out of reach and disappearing as soon as she got close enough to grab them.

Molly was pulled from her thoughts by Sherlock's hand on her wrist. If he noticed the way she shivered at the contact, he made no indication of it.

Molly stared at his hand until he hastily removed it, seemingly startled by his own actions. Molly ignored the loss she felt and stared at his face questioningly.

He closed his eyes, hands fisting the duvet as he gathered himself. Molly realized with a start that this was the first time she had ever seen Sherlock Holmes nervous. She remained quiet, intuitively sensing his need for silence.

Sherlock swallowed, and Molly was distracted by the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing sensually with the motion. Molly's eyes zeroed in on the pale expanse of skin there, transfixed by the view of his throat. (She remembered her friend Meena once calling it "utterly kissable.") His usual attire had gifted her with brief glimpses of the area, but seeing Sherlock like this was entirely different. Almost as if she could just reach out and….

Sherlock cleared his throat, and Molly jumped. Her cheeks flushed red as she berated herself.  _Focus, Molly! Even if this was an appropriate time for such a thing, he would probably flinch away at your touch. Haven't you suffered enough at the hands of this man?_

Sherlock's mouth held a hint of a smirk, informing Molly that he knew exactly what she had just been thinking.  _I guess we're even now, then_.

She forced her eyes up to his face and linked her fingers together. She smiled brightly at him, a vision of complete innocence. He lifted one brow (In appreciation? Disbelief? She had no idea) and took a deep breath. "Molly, I –"

The tinkling of a mobile from a nearby table interrupted him, and he cursed quietly as he heard the familiar melody. Molly recognized it as "God Save the Queen" and snorted when she realized who must be calling. She quietly hummed along as he draped the sheet around himself.

Sherlock graced her with a genuine smile as he slipped out of the bed to retrieve the phone. He picked it up and glanced down at the screen, smile replaced with a glower. "Mycroft?" she asked, chuckling only a little when his expression darkened.

"Obviously."

He hit the answer key a bit more forcefully than necessary. "Brother. How  _nice_  of you to phone. I trust England has not declared war in my absence?" Sarcasm dripped from his voice. Molly admired his ability to act calm. Her pulse was throbbing rapidly, her breath coming in short bursts.

The elder Holmes said something that had Sherlock scoffing. "We both understand very well that you know exactly how my evening went. Your subterfuge will not work on me, Mycroft."

Mycroft's retort wiped the smug grin off of the detective's face, and he turned to look uneasily at Molly for a moment. Unease filled her as she watched him march to the bathroom, picking up a change of clothing on the way. He closed the door behind him, and she heard the lock click into place.

Molly took the opportunity to gather her own clothes, dressing quickly before Sherlock returned. When her task was complete, she returned to the bed and waited for him to finish his conversation with his brother.

Although Molly had only met Mycroft Holmes a handful of times, she understood that he acted as more of a father figure to Sherlock than a brother. She had seen the brief look of horror in his eyes when he had arrived at her flat to remove Sherlock after the latter's dive from the rooftop of St. Bart's. She imagined that the picture of his brother covered in dark bruises, blood matting his usually flawless curls, still haunted the government official sometimes. She still woke up occasionally, cold sweat trickling down her neck, when she relived that day in her nightmares.

Molly knew the relationship between the two was strained. (John had once drunkenly confided to her Mycroft's role in Sherlock's downfall.) Still, she envied them in a way that only a child without siblings could. After her father had died, she and her mother had only had each other.

She remembered once, just after her father's passing, when her mother had taken her Christmas shopping. She was trying to be strong for her daughter, but, even at eight years old, Molly was more observant than most. She noticed the way her mother stared longingly at the couples holding hands as they strolled down the pavement. She pretended not to see how her mum's eyes filled with tears at the sight of a little girl clutching lovingly to her father's leg. Molly had simply squeezed her mother's hand and pulled her into the shop.

Young Molly Hooper had been distracted by the glittering tree and let go of her mum's hand. When Molly realized that her mum was nowhere in sight, she panicked, fear gripping her eight-year-old heart in its vicious jaws.

Molly had seen a woman who looked strikingly similar to her mother and had run down the aisle trying to catch her. When her short legs had finally stumbled to the place where Molly had last seen the woman, however, she had disappeared. The little girl had sat down on the ground in despair with moisture glistening on her cheeks.

She stayed in that position, unmindful of the pitying glances bestowed upon her by passing shoppers, until she heard a well-known voice frantically calling her name. Molly had sprung up and rushed toward the voice, hurtling into her mother's waiting arms. Molly had clung to her fiercely as her mum kissed every inch of her face.

"Don't you ever do that again, Molly Elizabeth Hooper!" her mum had cried, tears dripping down her chin as well. "You're all I have left!"

Since that moment, Molly had vowed never to hurt her mother like that again. She had been a diligent student, even if her social life was a bit lacking ( _imaginary_ ). It was worth all of her effort, all the nights spent inside studying instead of partying with her classmates, however, when she saw the pride on her mum's face when she graduated from medical school. Molly had always hated disappointing her mum.

This would kill her. She had done something which would be unforgivable in her mother's eyes. The knowledge that her only daughter, her pride and joy, had foolishly drank too much and married "that wanker who treats you like dirt" (her mum's words) would forever alter her mother's image of her.

Molly groaned and hid her face in the blanket. Well, if her life was officially over, at least she could say she got one night with Sherlock Holmes out of the deal. ( _Too bad you can't remember any of it_ , her traitorous brain reminded her.) Hysteria bubbled up within her, and she could no longer hold her tears at bay.

XXXXX

After locking the bathroom door, Sherlock brought the phone back to his ear.

"What did you just say?!" he hissed into the speaker, glancing nervously at the door in case Molly was eavesdropping.

"You know how much I hate to repeat myself, Sherlock." Mycroft's nasally voice only amplified the pounding in Sherlock's head. "But very well, if you insist. We were discussing your decision to wed Miss Hooper.  _Doctor_ Hooper," he corrected before Sherlock could interrupt. "I know how sensitive you can be about ensuring that your pathologist gets the proper recognition for her accomplishments. I merely mentioned how overjoyed Mummy will be to hear you have changed your mind about sentiment in favor of Dr. Hooper's considerable… charms."

"Do not talk nonsense, Mycroft. It was a mistake I believe was instigated by the manipulation of Irene Adler. You should close your mouth, as I am certain your jaw is presently on the floor in shock, while I tell you that, indeed, she is  _alive_."

He heard Mycroft coughing on the other end of the line and felt a twinge of success at having bested his brother.  _Not feeling so superior now, are we?_

"Even so,  _brother_ , you were a busy man last night. Molly Hooper-Holmes has been added as a joint account holder to your bank account, and members of your network of  _miscreants_ were seen moving Dr. Hooper's belongings into 221B. I hear Mrs. Hudson put up quite a fuss at being awoken so early. I must say, I'm impressed with what you managed to achieve so quickly, especially in your state of mind. But did you really think you could keep all of this from Mummy?"

"You told her?! It really is none of your concern,  _Mycroft_." Sherlock tried to keep the desperation out of his voice, but Violet Holmes was one of the few people who terrified him. Mycroft knew this.

"Of course not, Sherlock." The detective let out a breath. "You should thank me for intercepting the information before it reached the media. Luckily, my sources tipped me off before your marriage could become public knowledge. Your affairs with Dr. Hooper remain private. For today, at least."

"Unfortunately, it appears that Mummy has her own resources. She called me a few hours ago, fishing for information about your little pathologist. It would seem she is rather enamored with the idea of grandchildren."

Sherlock could practically hear Mycroft's nose wrinkle in distaste but kept his comments to himself. He had gone cold upon hearing of his mother's knowledge. If what Mycroft stated was true (and Sherlock had no reason to presume otherwise), then it was going to be much more difficult to deal with this dilemma than he had first believed. Something about the situation nagged him, as if he was missing a vitally important clue. He knew Irene was involved somehow, but he could not put the puzzle pieces together in his mind.  _Yet_.

Sherlock realized he had been silent for an abnormally long time and returned his attention to his brother. "Thank you, Mycroft," he bit out resentfully, hating the self-satisfied grin he knew was adorning his brother's face.

"You are very welcome, Sherlock." The detective wished he could reach through the phone and thump Mycroft right in his pointy nose. He held back his retort, as he grudgingly admitted to himself that he was extremely grateful for Mycroft's meddling, although he would never confess that to the man in question.

"Now, I suggest you speak with your  _wife_ , as the pair of you has quite a bit to discuss. And Sherlock?" The detective remained silent as he waited for Mycroft to continue. "Do try not to cause any more trouble? I have an urgent meeting with the Chinese Ambassador, and I would hate to be pulled from our conference simply because my little brother refuses to behave."

With that, he ended the call, leaving Sherlock to reflect on their conversation by himself. His arm fell loosely to his side, the phone dangling precariously in his lax grip as he sat on the rim of the tub. He stood up and began dressing himself, mind still reeling.

He heard a faint sniffling sound from the bedroom and hurriedly opened the door, peeking through the doorway toward where he knew Molly was reclining on the bed. The sight of Molly Hooper (Holmes?) curled over, sobbing into the duvet, struck a chord in him. He did not know what possessed him to walk over and gently lay a hand on her shoulder.

Her head shot up as a gasp escaped her mouth. He observed her red-rimmed eyes and trembling lip. He steeled himself against the part of himself that wanted to comfort her, instead focusing on the issue at hand. He needed to figure this out, to solve this mystery, for both of their sakes.

"Sh-sherlock?" she stammered out quietly.

"Molly, after careful consideration, I have come to a decision about our current situation. I believe there is only one way to handle this."

"W-what's th-that, Sherlock?" Hope blossomed anew within her at the determination on his face.

"We will have to stay married, Molly, at least for the time being."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review and let me know what you thought! I am not offended by criticism, as long as it is constructive. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Sherlock discover a little more about their missing hours.

" _We will have to stay married, Molly, at least for the time being."_

Molly squeaked, hands flying up to cover her mouth as she once more turned into a mouse in the presence of Sherlock Holmes. Molly blinked several times, unable to believe what Sherlock had said.  _Surely, I must be imagining this, right? Sherlock Holmes couldn't possibly want to stay married to_ me _._

She rose from her position on the bed, trembling slightly as she set her feet on the floor. Once assured that she would not collapse, she shifted her weight and twisted to stare at the detective. Although the two were only separated by a queen-sized mattress, the distance between them felt infinite.

Finally, Molly gathered enough courage to speak. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. What did you say? I must have misheard you."

"You heard me perfectly, Molly. I believe it would be in both of our best interests to remain husband and wife for the foreseeable future. As we both are aware, you have been infatuated with me for years, so I doubt you will have any major objections, but –"

"Sherlock!" Her outraged cry shut him up immediately, and Molly congratulated herself.  _Not so mousy anymore, am I, Sherlock?_ "Will you slow down for one bloody minute?! I can't recall anything about last night, and, from the shocked expression on your face when you awoke, I can only assume your memories aren't much clearer. So we woke up with gold bands on our fingers. It might not mean anything!" She was babbling, but Molly could not stop the word vomit from spewing out of her mouth. "How do you know we are even legally married?!"

Sherlock gave her a condescending look that had Molly gritting her teeth. "Please, Molly. Even when under the influence of illegal substances, I still managed to crack open cases that Scotland Yard's finest could not. Do you really think that I would muddle up something as simple as getting married, if for whatever reason I decided to do so?" He walked over to the little desk in the suite and grabbed a white sheet of paper between his dexterous, violinist's fingers.

"Besides, this little slip of parchment verifies quite indisputably that we are officially bound together in matrimony. Congratulations,  _Mrs. Holmes_."

Molly ignored the acceleration of her heartbeat at the way the name sounded from his velvety baritone. Instead, she strode over and snatched the document out of his grasp. Sure enough, she held in her hands a marriage certificate, tying Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper together indefinitely.  _Well this was bloody fantastic._

She hastily beat into submission the giddy part of herself that wanted to jump around the room and shout from the roof that she had snagged Sherlock Holmes. Really, such behavior would not be appropriate given the circumstances. After that daunting task was complete, she looked back up at the consulting detective.

"W-well, we could just get divorced, then. No one will be any the wiser, and we can just pretend like this never happened!" She hoped her smile and cheery tone were enough to hide her panic, but knew deep down that her hope was for naught. Sherlock had an uncanny knack for sifting through the deceit and dishonesty of even the most practiced liars. Molly didn't stand a chance against his all-seeing gaze.

"Even if it were that simple, Molly, my brother has just informed me that we were exceedingly productive last night. My bank account is under both of our names, and, if I am not mistaken, you may want to phone your land lord. I'm sure he would be absolutely  _delighted_  to hear from you."

Molly disregarded his sarcasm and reached into her trouser pocket, fishing out her mobile. Curiosity was eating away at her.  _It couldn't hurt to do as he asked._

XXXXX

Ten minutes later, Molly was livid. "Ungrateful little weasel," she muttered as she hung up on the man, slamming her phone down on the desk. "I was a model tenant for five years, and he just dumps me at the drop of a hat?!" Her mood deteriorated even further when she noticed the smug expression on Sherlock's face.

Evidently, she had phoned her land lord at some point during the previous evening's activities, demanding that he let her out of her lease provided that she paid a hefty termination fee. The money had been transferred from Sherlock's account at once, and, in the few hours since, he had already promised her flat to someone else. No amount of whining or pleading on Molly's part could convince the man to change his mind and take her back. She was officially homeless.

She wished she could slap the smirk off of Sherlock's perfect Cupid's bow mouth. She wished she could grab him by the collar, attach her lips to his, and show him exactly how newlyweds were  _supposed_  to act on the morning after they wed. Either way, she needed  _something_ to distract herself from attacking the bastard.

"Well. As you have already deduced, I no longer have a flat to which to return."

He nodded. "Yes, I presumed as much. Mycroft mentioned that members of my homeless network were relocating your possessions to 221 Baker Street. They began early this morning in London, meaning I must have called them sometime before midnight Las Vegas time. That narrows our window of when everything occurred. You should be nearly moved in by now." Molly shook her head, trying to clear the questions spinning around inside of it.

She glanced up at Sherlock questioningly. "How could you possibly think staying married is the best solution?"

"Logically, this makes the most sense. Although Mycroft has kept our private business out of the media's greedy claws, a quick marriage and divorce would only ignite a frenzy. We can work on resolving this quietly when we return to London, if that is what you desire. Unfortunately, my mother has somehow learnt of our nuptials. I would not be surprised if she has already invited your mother over for tea. I fear they will protest quite vehemently to the termination of our marriage."

Sherlock paused, allowing this to sink in. "I understand you likely need more time to consider our arrangement and viable options, Molly. I suggest we put aside making any future plans for now, and concentrate on the more pressing issue. What happened last night?"

"It's odd," Molly replied, scrunching her eyes in concentration. Everything after dinner is jumbled together, and I can't get a firm grasp on any of it. What about you?"

"Much the same, I'm afraid. Rationally, we both know what we did last night, at least in part, but the how and why are complete mysteries. We need to solve this as soon as possible, Molly."

The pathologist could not stop the smile from blooming on her face. Of course, he would approach a drunken mistake in Las Vegas as a case which needed to be unraveled. When in doubt, rely on logic and reason. That was Sherlock's mantra. She had to admit, however, that he made a valid point. This entire situation was just so completely out of character for both of them.

"I agree, Sherlock, but I can't remember anything. Where do you suggest we start?"

For once, the detective seemed at a loss for words. He sank down on to the foot of the bed, positioning his hands palm to palm, fingertips brushing the underside of his chin. Molly recognized this as his thinking pose. "Obviously, taking blood samples would be the best approach. We need to determine if we were drugged and, if so, identify the substance…."

"Oh, yeah, let me just go get my spare supply of needles and test tubes out of my bag," Molly teased. Sherlock glanced at her briefly, excitement clouding his eyes for a moment, before he waved her off.

"Don't make jokes, Molly. I suppose we could begin at the restaurant, see if they noticed anything amiss. Perhaps we mentioned where we were planning to go next?" He looked up at her, ostensibly seeking her approval of his plan.

Molly didn't have any better ideas, so she remained silent. The two stared at each other for a long time, trying to develop a strategy. Suddenly, both jumped as a piercing chime sounded from the suite's telephone. Because she was closer, Molly hurried over to answer it.

"Hello?" She listened intently to the voice on the other end, holding a finger up to quiet Sherlock when he made to interject. He crossed his arms, pouting in a manner Molly found much more endearing than she should have.

"Yes, we will be down shortly. Thank you." She replaced the receiver, turning to Sherlock who gazed at her inquisitively. Molly took a deep breath. "That was the man at the front desk. The video recording of our wedding is there, ready to be picked up."

She saw her own apprehension reflected in the detective's expression and let him process the information. She could practically feel him buzzing with excitement, yearning to examine this new clue. After a few minutes, he brought his attention back to Molly. Meeting her eyes, he held out a hand. "Shall we?"

XXXXX

Sherlock's fingers remained entwined with Molly's as they descended in the lift. Once the doors opened, revealing the main lobby, he pulled her along with him as he ambled up to the front desk.

Molly recognized the young man as the same receptionist who had given Sherlock their room keys the previous day. Molly found it difficult to believe that they had checked in less than 24 hours ago. The man smiled sweetly up at the detective until Sherlock asked about the wedding video. The young man stood up to retrieve the package, letting out a wistful sigh as he did so, and placed it in front of the older man. Sherlock picked it up and began examining the outside for clues, turning it this way and that with his free arm.

While he was distracted, the receptionist ("Cody", his name plate read) glared irately at Molly, whose hand was still clasped possessively in Sherlock's. She tried to remove it, but Sherlock's hold remained steadfast, refusing to let her go. Cody's frown deepened even more as he witnessed the gesture.

"Well, Molly, I suppose we should return to the suite. See what we can gather from watching this video." He turned his head to look at her, and she nodded in agreement.

Before they could leave, however, the young receptionist spoke. "Oh, sir! Ms. Clark left a message for you!"

"Ms. Clark?" Sherlock gaped at him, not recognizing the name.

"Yes, Ms. Yvonne Clark. She said that she was profusely sorry that she could not say farewell in person, but to give you this note when you and your… lady friend… came downstairs." Molly guiltily felt a smug sense of satisfaction as she watched Cody refuse to say "wife".

Molly leaned into Sherlock's side (perhaps a bit more intimately than the situation called for – they were trying to keep up appearances, right?), reading the message over his shoulder. If Molly suspected that Sherlock's mystery woman had played a role in their mutual memory lapse before, she was now certain of it.

_Mr. Holmes–_

_My apologies for skipping out on you before we could_

_finish dinner. I do hope the wine selection was tolerable for you_

_and your companion. Tell your pretty little doctor friend that I say_

_hello. If only we had had more time to get to know each other._

_She seemed rather delectable. Goodbye forever, darling._

_Sincerely, the Woman_

Molly and Sherlock locked eyes for a moment before Sherlock crumpled the paper into a ball and stuffed it into his pocket. "Ms. Clark has already checked out, then?"

"Yes, sir. A taxi came to drive her to the airport first thing this morning. I'm sorry, sir, but she didn't say where she was going," he replied in answer to Sherlock's unspoken question.

Sherlock began walking back to the lifts, urging Molly along with him. "Th-thank you!" she yelled back at the young man, who merely glowered at the pair's interwoven hands.  _Oh well. At least I tried._

Although she wanted to, she couldn't really fault the young man for his fascination with Sherlock.  _How many times has that same expression been present on my own face?_  Cody was still staring longingly at Sherlock as the lift doors closed upon them.

XXXXX

Molly sat down on the soft, cream-colored sofa as Sherlock inserted the disk into the player and started the recording. He sank on to the cushion beside her as they waited.

The chapel itself was modestly decorated, most likely due to the impulsive decision to wed. White pews lined either side of a central aisle, leading up to a small platform. Pink roses adorned the majority of the space, although an exquisite white centerpiece stood in the center of the platform. Vines (most likely fake) wrapped around the structure, giving the chapel more of an outdoorsy atmosphere.

As she took in the setting, Molly breathed a sigh of relief. As far as spur-of-the-moment wedding venues went, this was not as bad as she had imagined. She had once seen a movie where the main couple were married by an Elvis impersonator. She shuddered at the horror. Her mother wouldn't be able to hold  _that_  over her head.

The room was empty except for two lone figures towards the front of the chapel. Sitting behind an old, worn-out piano on the left side of the stage, was a ruddy-faced woman bedecked in a vile lilac pantsuit. The matching hat only served to make her look more like a middle-aged cartoon character.

The only other person currently on camera was Sherlock. He stood on the little platform, hands clasped behind his back as he stared into space. He looked much the same as he had at dinner, except his blue tie was loosened and his dark curls were even more unruly than usual. Molly thought she could make out a smudge of pink lipstick on the side of his mouth (the same shade that she had in her bag upstairs), but the video was too grainy for her to be positive.

The memorable opening notes of the wedding march rang out as the pianist began to play. Both the Sherlock on camera and the one beside her straightened to attention. Molly watched with rapt concentration as she made her first appearance on camera. She wore the same dress as the previous evening, the blue fabric clinging to her body as she stepped into the aisle. She carried a bouquet of light pink roses, matching the ones decorating the chapel. She slowly made her way down the aisle towards the waiting consulting detective, who was staring at her in pure adoration.

The other Molly (that is what she had begun to call the on-screen woman, who seemed so removed from the Molly on the sofa) was escorted by an elderly man in a well-worn, black tuxedo, with a rose matching hers pinned to the side of his top hat. He stopped her as they reached the steps leading up to the platform. A beaming Molly Hooper leaned forward and kissed the man on the cheek, earning a shy smile and blush from the adorable old man.

Molly unwound her arm from his and stretched forward to grab Sherlock, who was grinning widely down at her. Their matching smiles were so radiant that Molly had to look away for a moment, blinded by the pure joy caught on camera.

The other Molly dropped her bouquet as she sauntered up the steps, and both she and the other Sherlock burst into a fit of giggles. Their laughter did not cease until the elderly man, who had walked up to the platform in front of the couple, cleared his throat and pulled out a little black book. The music was silenced, as well, and the ceremony commenced.

Molly's mind wandered as the couple on the screen recited the familiar wedding vows. She realized that Sherlock (her Sherlock,  _the_   _real Sherlock)_  and she had inched farther apart as the wedding proceeded. Now, they were both practically sitting on top of the opposing arm rests, refusing to look at one another. The irony didn't escape her. As the other Sherlock and Molly drifted closer to each other, the distance between the couple on the sofa widened exponentially.

Molly waited with bated breath for the conclusion of the ceremony. Finally, the elderly man uttered those well-known words ("You may now kiss the bride"), and Molly gasped.

The newlywed couple seemed oblivious to everything but each other as what began as a simple peck transformed into a full-blown snogging session in the front of the chapel. Hands roamed over each other, seeking the bliss of skin to skin contact. Molly's gut tightened when she heard the other Sherlock groan as Molly's hands tangled in his hair and tugged. Both blatantly ignored the other man, who was blushing furiously at the passionate display and trying to regain their attention. Eventually, the poor man gave up and looked directly at the camera. He made a slicing motion against his throat to gesture for the cameraman to stop filming.

The screen cut to black as the couple remained lost in each other's embrace.

Neither Sherlock nor Molly moved for several minutes. Molly stared in shock at the empty screen, twirling a lock of hair around her finger nervously. Finally, Sherlock stood up, gesturing with his hands that he was going out for some fresh air. He slammed the door behind him without speaking a word. Molly certainly understood his speechlessness. She was overwhelmed as well.

As she thought back on the video, however, one thought made itself known over and over, and her mind refused to let her forget about it.

She had never seen Sherlock looking as happy as he did when he was gazing down at her, promising to love and cherish her forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review and tell me what you thought!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly ponders her predicament and makes a decision regarding her and Sherlock's future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays everyone! I had hoped to have this chapter posted last night, but the editing process took longer than I expected. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this chapter. A part of me really likes it, but the other part fears that Sherlock is horribly out of character. I don't know. I will let you all be the final judge!
> 
> Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Sherlock.

Molly viewed the entire wedding video a total of five times after Sherlock dashed out of the suite, etching the images into her memory.

She told herself she was being foolish. Even in her mentally-exhausted state of mind, she could recognize the certainty of that. She thought that she had moved away from mooning over the detective, happily lapping up whatever scraps of affection he spared for her.

Obviously, she was not as content with their relationship as she had led herself to believe. _At least he isn’t here to see me like this,_ she reasoned. _And who knows when_ (if) _he will ever look at me with that level of longing again?_

So, she continued to play the video, rewinding and re-watching the snog more times than she cared to acknowledge. He certainly appeared to understand the finer techniques involved in kissing. The other Molly definitely was not complaining, if the way she kept pressing herself closer to him was any indication.

She tried to ignore the surge of jealousy that coursed through her veins at the idea that ‘Yvonne’ had given him a few private lessons.

A growing pressure in her lower abdomen reminded Molly that she had neglected her usual morning routine in the light of all that had happened last night (or hadn’t happened – who really knew at this point?). She clicked off the television and dragged herself to the loo.

The pathologist relieved herself, washed her hands and grabbed her glasses. Unfortunately, she had not been mindful enough to remove her contact lenses before she and Sherlock had retired to bed. She blinked several times to bring some moisture back to her eyeballs.

It was not until she began brushing her teeth, however, that Molly managed to really scrutinize her reflection in the mirror. She groaned as she saw the frazzled woman staring back at her.

Her hair, which she had so meticulously styled the previous evening, had been pulled back hastily. A few light brown tresses had fallen out of her ponytail and now hung limply around her face.

Molly praised herself for her decision to forgo most of her makeup, as she was certain it would be smeared all over. As it was, the only remaining trace was a blotch of lipstick on her lower lip, the rest having presumably rubbed off during her and Sherlock’s… activities.

Dark bags were visible beneath her eyes, bloodshot from a combination of exhaustion and her contacts. Her gaze travelled downwards and focused on one particular spot. Was that…?!

Molly nearly spit toothpaste all over the bathroom mirror as she noticed a dark bruise noticeably marring her slender neck. Heat flooded through her body as she imagined scenarios that could have caused a mark like that. She winced as she delicately pressed on it but could not hold back her small smirk of satisfaction.

Deciding that her teeth were as clean as they were going to get today, Molly emptied her mouth into the sink and rinsed with tap water a few times.

After she deemed herself fairly presentable, Molly returned to the bedroom, as she could no longer ignore the grumbling of her stomach. Massaging it to alleviate some of her hunger, Molly perused through the provided In-Suite Dining Menu, which was placed prominently beside the telephone. Molly dialled the specified number and gave her selection to the woman who answered. She informed her that her meal should be delivered in no more than thirty minutes. Molly thanked her and hung up.

Now alone with only her thoughts to occupy her, Molly paced in front of the sofa as she waited for her food to arrive. She knew, of course, that Sherlock would react poorly to the video of their wedding. He was a man of deduction and logic. How, then, would he respond to proof of himself giving in to sentiment and passion, two emotions he had so vehemently denied he was capable of feeling? And in front of two strangers, no less!

Molly dreaded his return. He would be even crueller than usual, if only to counteract what he had professed under the influence of whatever drug Sherlock’s female acquaintance had dosed them with.

A small part of Molly (the part not too busy detesting the gorgeous woman) admired Yvonne for her ability to best Sherlock Holmes, not once, but multiple times.

A persistent pounding on the door sounded, and Molly hurried over, abandoning that traitorous train of thought. She really was starving. As she pulled on the knob, however, it was a curly-haired consulting detective that greeted her, not the cheery room service attendant that she had been expecting.

“I left my key,” was the only explanation he offered, and Molly twisted her fingers together in nervous anticipation as he brushed past her. _  
_

Sherlock walked halfway across the room before pivoting abruptly to watch as she closed the door. _Never know whose inquisitive ears could be listening_.

Molly took a moment to really observe him and was startled to discover that he looked just as awful as (if not worse than) she had. The same bloodshot eyes and dark shadows could be seen on his face as well, although he also had a scratch running from his left eyebrow down to his cheek. _How had that happened?_ The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing his lean neck and throat. Molly bit her lip to hide the grin that formed when she noticed a bruise prominently displayed there that matched her own.

After her assessment of his appearance was complete, Molly brought her gaze back up to meet Sherlock's. She debated whether to ask him where he had disappeared to for over two hours but decided against it. He was unlikely to tell her even if she voiced the question. Instead, she stared at him, willing him to speak.

“Molly, as I’m quite certain you are aware, we need to talk.” Succinct and to-the-point, Molly found herself grateful for his straightforwardness. She did not possess the patience to deal with anything else. She followed his lead and uttered exactly what was on her mind.

“I just want you to know, Sherlock, that I won’t hold you to anything you said or did last night. I realize we were both under the influence of… _something_ , probably given to us by your ‘friend.’ I don’t know the history between the two of you or how… intimately,” Molly gulped out the word, “you are acquainted with each other, but I do recall you identifying her by… not her face.” Molly let out a small sigh before squaring her shoulders. 

“That being said, however, _I do not blame you for what happened._ I know you didn’t mean any of it, so I won’t force you to keep up pretences.”

Sherlock scrunched his eyebrows together, unsure of how to proceed. Molly was only slightly ashamed of how proud of herself she was. She had brought the great Sherlock Holmes to speechlessness more times in the past day than she had in the entirety of their acquaintance.

Looking at the detective, though, she desperately wanted to offer some form of comfort (whether by a gentle hand on his arm or a warm embrace, she did not know), but recognized that it would be ill received at the moment. Saving him from his discomfort, she continued on instead.

“You would not have even _considered_ marrying me unless you weren’t in your right mind. Hell, I wouldn’t have married you either. This,” she gestured back and forth between them, “is likely to be a complete disaster.” She spoke with confidence, even though her heart broke as the truth of her words sunk in.

When she dared look at Sherlock, however, she could not easily discern the expression on his beautiful, but weary, face. Confusion, certainly, but his bewilderment was underlain with another emotion, one that seemed oddly like… hurt.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his reply was cut short by a knock coming from the door. “Room service!” a young, masculine voice called out.

Molly shot Sherlock an apologetic look, holding up one finger to urge him to wait, while she scurried over to answer the door. A smiling young man with red hair stood on the other side, with a cart carrying what Molly identified as her lunch. She stepped aside to let him enter, and he swiftly pushed the cart into the suite.

Molly’s stomach churned uncomfortably as the aroma of her grilled chicken sandwich wafted through the air. She fought down a wave of nausea and gave the young man a strained smile as she hunted in her purse for a tip.

She glanced briefly at Sherlock as she handed the boy the money. He was glaring intensely at the server, silently demanding that he take his leave as quickly as possible.

The young man’s gaze drifted uneasily between the two occupants for a minute, sensing the tension between the couple. He politely expressed his thanks to Molly and requested that she call if she required any further assistance. He narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, suspicion clouding his expression, before exiting the room as promptly as he had entered it.

Molly stared down at her meal for some time before pushing it aside. She certainly could not eat anything now, not while she and Sherlock were in the middle of such an important discussion.

She turned back to her companion, who was once again pacing furiously around the suite.

Without warning, he twisted and plopped down on the sofa, his long fingers pressing together, subconsciously falling into place beneath his chin. She half-expected him to close his eyes and withdraw into his mind palace, but his attention remained focused exclusively on her. Molly supposed this might be worse than when he ignored her.

“What did you mean?”

“W-what?” she asked in confusion. Sherlock tended to forget that not all minds travelled from point to point as rapidly as his did.

“You implied that you would not have married me unless you were manipulated in some way. I thought… you would be pleased to learn that you had become my wife. A mistaken assumption, apparently.”

Molly recalled the way Sherlock pouted for days if a person he cared about didn’t recognize his brilliance or praise him for a particularly ingenious deduction. The detective worked best when he had an adoring audience for which to perform. This was much the same, she realized. His insecurity, normally hidden behind brutal observations and haughty arrogance, was peeking through. She would need to tread very carefully.

“W-well, I j-just…. I just meant that… I would never have married _anyone_ under these circumstances. I’ve always liked the idea of marrying someone after a long engagement.” _I’ve always liked the idea of marrying someone who loves me back._ “We’ve never even been on a proper date, Sherlock.”

“Ah. So you do not protest to being my wife, only to the circumstances of how that came to be?” She nodded, giving him a warm smile that did not reach her eyes. “I see. Interesting…”

Sherlock’s voice drifted off as he puzzled over this latest information. He muttered to himself periodically, gesticulating wildly with his arms as if conversing with a being only he could see. Molly looked around the room anxiously, trying not to stare at him. She felt as though he was making choices about their future together without consulting her first.

“I am sorry.” He interrupted her internal rambling, his voice quiet and hesitant in a way she had only heard on one other occasion. Strangely enough, he had been apologizing then as well.

“For what?” She reviewed everything he had done or spoken since he had returned to the room, but nothing in particular came to mind. Unless he was referring to….

“I am sorry that the Woman included you in her petty revenge scheme against me. You should never have been involved in this. I apologize for asking you to accompany me, and for bringing you here, Molly. John was unavailable, and I….”

In that instant, Molly saw Sherlock for who he truly was instead of the façade he wore for everyone else. He was a lonely man who craved companionship, much the same as he was when they were first introduced. She had recognized his loneliness then, as it mirrored her own.

She wondered if he had any friends growing up, or if his peers had ostracized him for his uncanny abilities instead. _Most likely the latter_. She had not seen that lost look in his eyes since John Watson had come into their lives.

Sherlock’s time away from London after his fall from St. Bart’s, as well as John’s subsequent marriage to the delightful Mary Morstan, had affected the detective more deeply than she realized. Sympathy for this broken man struck Molly’s heart, and she understood what she needed to do before consciously making the decision to do so.

She walked over until she was standing over him. “This is not your fault, Sherlock. I came willingly, remember? Well, kind of….” They both chuckled, remembering her frustration and anger with him when he had barged into her flat, insisting that she help him.

“What I mean is, at least we are not alone in this. The situation is not ideal, certainly, but we can figure this out. You are the world’s only consulting detective, after all. If anyone can solve this, it’s you.” She considered stopping there, afraid to scare him off with further sentiment, but forged ahead nonetheless.

“I’d like to think we are friends, as well. If I had to impulsively wed anyone, I’m glad it was to someone that I trust more than anybody else.”

Molly stepped back, bumping into the little table behind her and nearly falling over it. _Really graceful, Molly,_ she chided herself.

A snicker escaped Sherlock’s mouth, and Molly’s jaw dropped open in surprise. Soon, she was doubled over as well, laughing over their ridiculous predicament.

“Do you still believe what you declared earlier?” she questioned, once their amusement had died down to only an occasional giggle.

“Believe what, Molly? My deductive powers are top-rate, but even I cannot read minds.”

“That… you and I should... remain... married.”

Their eyes locked as he considered his answer. “I…. Yes, Molly, it seems to be the most logical solution, as I explained earlier. Do you require additional clarification?”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary, Sherlock.” Molly heard what he left out of his explanations, what he could not articulate. Sherlock wanted ( _needed_ )someone to talk at and carry out experiments with. Someone to tell him when he was being an arse and accompany him to crime scenes. Someone to replace John Watson.

Molly knew that she could never fill the void left in Sherlock’s life by the absence of the ex-army doctor. But because she was Molly, and because she loved the bastard who was now unwittingly her husband, she decided to try her best. It might destroy her, living with Sherlock and seeing him every day, knowing that he would never be truly hers. Once again, Molly Hooper would be selfless for Sherlock Holmes. She would sacrifice her own happiness to provide him with the support he desired. She never could tell him no.

Molly walked towards Sherlock, tentatively taking the seat beside him. Her hands were folded in her lap as she gathered herself. This was undoubtedly the most significant moment of her life thus far, and she did not want to muck it up. She intended to find the perfect words to convey her decision.

“Okay,” she said, finally. _Well, there goes that plan, then. Great work, Molly!_

“Okay?” he replied, hope barely evident in his tone. Molly fleetingly wondered whether any person besides herself and Mycroft would have perceived it.

“Okay.” She smiled at him, reaching over to cover his hand with one of her own. “Let’s stay married, for now.”

Sherlock’s body rotated slightly to the left so that it was now curved towards hers. He removed his hand from hers, raising it to her face. She could feel it graze her cheekbone when a ping reverberated throughout the suite, the sound magnified in the stillness of the room. Sherlock jerked back, as if suddenly noticing his body’s objective. His hand dropped to his side as he lifted himself from his reclining position and pulled his mobile from his trouser pocket.

He quickly read the new text message before raising his head to meet her gaze.

“Mycroft has chartered a plane to return us to London, but we do not need to leave until later this evening. Is there anywhere you wish to visit before we go?”

“Don’t we still need to investigate? I thought you wanted to solve the case of our missing memories?”

“Did you think I was sight-seeing while I was out?”

Molly felt unbelievably stupid. Of course he had been collecting data regarding their plight.

“I believe I have acquired all of the information I can from the bumbling idiots we encountered last night. I have enlisted Mycroft’s help in locating Irene. Yvonne,” he clarified at her befuddled expression. “We need not worry about that for the time being. Any suggestions on where we should spend our last hours in Las Vegas?”

Molly abandoned her curiosity for now, focusing instead on her mental list of intriguing Las Vegas destinations. “Well... I did read that they have a replica of the Eiffel Tower. I’d like to see how it compares to the real one! We could treat it like an experiment of sorts! If you want to, that is.”

Sherlock nodded his assent. “You should eat before we go.” He gestured to her lunch, sitting forgotten on the room service cart.

Molly stood up and strode over to her food. Now that their discussion was over, their decision made ( _God help me_ ), she could devour her sandwich and fruit cup. She picked up the tray and brought it with her to the sofa. She rubbed her hands together in anticipation, positioning the napkin carefully over her lap.

Sherlock watched her with a small grin on his face. “I will begin assembling our belongings, Molly. Enjoy your meal.”

As she tucked into the delicious chicken sandwich, she heard Sherlock moving around the bedroom, collecting the items scattered all around the suite.

_Who knows? Maybe this will turn out better than I imagined._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Molly. :( What did you think? Loved it? Hated it? Please leave a review and let me know! Your comments encourage me to write faster!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly explore Las Vegas a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than the others, simply because it was getting longer than I expected. The good news is that I have some of the next chapter already written, so you shouldn't have to wait as long! 
> 
> On another note, I began this story before Series 3 came out, so none of the events in Sherlock Series 3 will come into play here (I don't think). I may make allusions to some of Sherlock and Molly's moments, however. For instance, in this chapter ;)
> 
> Disclaimer: I still do not own Sherlock. If I did, Sherlock would have danced with Molly at the wedding.

Once Molly had finished eating, Sherlock promptly ushered her out of the suite, their bags deposited in a pile just inside the door. When Molly made to reach for hers, however, he brushed her arm aside, one hand on the small of her back to push her through the doorway.

"Sherlock, what about –"

He waved his hand dismissively as he slammed the door behind them. "One of Mycroft's minions will see to them, I'm sure. They will be loaded on the plane while we are out."

His hand remained where it was, burning her skin through the thin material of her shirt and sending tingles up her spine. She twitched nervously as they waited for the lifts, trying to focus on something ( _anything_ ) else besides that electrified point of contact between his body and hers. A ding sounded just before the doors opened, and the couple stepped inside.

Molly sighed in relief when he finally released her. He hit the button to return them to the main lobby with more force than was probably necessary. Molly stood awkwardly against the back wall, refusing to look at Sherlock ( _her husband!_ ).

Molly saw Sherlock look at her quizzically in her peripheral vision, but, if he noticed her discomfort at his proximity, he made no mention of it. The couple stood in uncomfortable silence as the lift descended, both lost in their own thoughts.

When the doors finally opened to the main lobby, Molly scrambled out, anxious to put as much space between Sherlock and herself as possible without arousing suspicion. If the narrowing of Sherlock's eyes was anything to go by, though, he had indeed observed her irregular behaviour and was attempting to deduce its origin.

Molly smiled sheepishly at him but mentally berated herself as they made their way outside.

She and Sherlock had just come to an understanding (of sorts), and here she was, mucking everything up again. _Really, Molly, you are a grown woman, not some lovesick teenager who freaks just because the love of your life is touching you!_ (She refused to acknowledge the voice in the back of her mind whispering that Sherlock had touched her much more intimately than that last night.)

Molly gulped and balled her hands into fists, praying to whatever higher deity would listen that Sherlock had not seen her reaction to his touch. The next several weeks ( _Months? Years? How long was he planning to keep up this charade exactly? Until someone more interesting came along?_ ) would be difficult enough without Molly frightening him off by revealing her true feelings. Even if he did already know how she felt about him.

Electing to walk down the Las Vegas Strip instead of driving to the Paris Las Vegas, Sherlock and Molly set out side by side, although Molly was careful to keep a safe distance away. She could not afford another close encounter like the previous one.

Molly excitedly drank in all the sights as they strolled down the street, squealing in delight at the beautiful scenery. The city was so alive. Sure, London was a beautiful city with lots of attractions to see and enjoy, but Las Vegas seemed almost unreal. All of the lights and sounds, happily appreciated by thousands of tourists from all over the world, drew her in. Molly thought that she had identified at least four languages being spoken in the five minutes they had walked.

Abruptly, Molly stopped in front of a gorgeous hotel and casino, earning her a glare from a frumpy blonde woman who had barely managed to manoeuvre around Molly.

Molly, however, didn't spare her another thought as she grabbed Sherlock's hand and pulled him towards the beckoning building.

"Oh! I read about this! It's called the Mirage, and I have a feeling you are going to like this, Sherlock!"

Sherlock scoffed, face dripping with scepticism. "Molly, I highly doubt…." He drifted off, however, as they entered the lobby. There, situated behind the front desk, was a giant saltwater aquarium.

Molly smiled to herself as Sherlock let go of her hand and stepped forward, mesmerized by the glorious tank. Bright lights illuminated the sea of bright colours and tropical aquatic life. Sherlock wandered off, body humming with the thrill of scientific investigation. She recognized his body language as the same he had when confronted with a particularly intriguing case.

The image of a young Sherlock, excitedly performing scientific experiments by himself, came unbidden to Molly's mind, and she had to choke down the pity that filled her.

Molly watched Sherlock for another moment before she, too, went to explore.

She was standing alone, admiring the view and attempting to identify a certain species of fish, when a movement to her right drew her attention. She turned her head slightly to see a young man, several years younger than her, with short, blonde hair. He wore dark jeans and a crimson button-up shirt. He was cute in a "your mum wouldn't approve" sort-of-way. He caught Molly's eye and grinned at her. Molly smiled back politely and returned her attention to the aquarium.

"Lovely, isn't it?" she asked him courteously, pointing to the tank.

"Beautiful," he replied in a deep, American accent, although Molly could not help comparing his voice to a certain consulting detective's. (Sherlock's baritone was _much_ deeper. And sent shivers through her entire being.)

She looked over at him from the corner of her eye, surprised to discover he was still staring at her. "I was talking about the aquarium."

"I know." He held her gaze. "I wasn't."

Molly ducked her head, a blush creeping up her neck as she giggled nervously. This man was certainly charming. There was no doubt about that.

"I'm Sam." He reached out to grab her hand, placing a delicate kiss to her knuckles. Molly tried not to be flattered by his attentions. "And you are?"

"M-molly," she stuttered out. _Why am I incapable of having a normal conversation today without stumbling over my words?_

"Interesting accent, _Molly_." Her name rolled off his tongue silkily, and he was eyeing her like a predator circling its intended target. "Where are you from?"

"London," she replied tersely. She did not want this stranger to mistake their casual conversation for romantic interest. Her love life was screwed up enough at the moment without adding another factor into the equation.

"Oh, I've always wanted to go there! I'm from California, myself. San Francisco. You ever been?" Clearly, he was not comprehending her subtle hints. She would have to be more obvious.

"No, I haven't. Listen, I really must –" She looked around desperately for Sherlock, but the detective had disappeared. He always showed up at the most inopportune moments ( _like when my shift is just ending_ , she thought bitterly), but now when she really needed him….

"Do you want to get a drink with me? I know we've only just met, but I can feel the connection between us. There's this really good place not far from here." Sam still held her hand loosely in his grip, which tightened when Molly attempted to pull away. Alarm bells began going off in Molly's brain. _Where is Sherlock?!_

"I can't. I'm sorry." She hoped her voice relayed her apology, not the fear rushing through her veins.

"Why not? One drink won't kill you, will it? Come on. It'll be fun. I promise."

"Look, I'm flattered, really, but my –"

"Her husband would not appreciate his _wife_ going out with another man. Surely, you can understand _that_ , even if it appears you do not understand the word _no._ " Sherlock stepped into the fray, easily removing her hand from Sam's. He clenched Sam's wrist so firmly that even Molly cringed.

"I-I…" Sam began, but was cut off as Sherlock narrowed his eyes, quickly deducing the man before him. His eyes travelled over the shorter man, noticing everything about him within seconds.

"University student, I see, currently in your fifth- no, _sixth_ \- year, with no graduation date in sight. You have been living off of your parents' money, but they recently disowned you when they realized what you were wasting it on. You and a friend travelled to Las Vegas, hoping to make some quick money so that you could pay your drug dealer and continue the partying lifestyle to which you have become accustomed. _That_ plan has failed miserably. _Obviously_."

Sam gulped, but Sherlock was far from finished. Molly's eyes were glued to the detective. He really was spectacular to watch when he was deducing. Especially when his powers were focused on anyone other than herself. A small smile appeared on her face as she watched Sherlock in action. She always loved this part.

"When the two of you failed to win at the gambling tables, you decided to turn to other, more _illicit_ methods of acquiring money. Tell me, did you intend to take Molly's money at right away, or had you planned on sleeping with her first and running off with all of her belongings in the middle of the night?"

Molly gasped and finally turned her attention back to Sam, who was desperately trying to remove himself from Sherlock's grasp and looking anywhere but at the consulting detective. Sensing the futility of his actions, Sam's arm went limp as he stopped struggling. He shrugged.

Sherlock dropped Sam's wrist in disgust, fixing an icy glare on the quivering man.

Sherlock draped his left arm around Molly's shoulders, pulling her into his body possessively. Sam's eyes lingered on the glint of gold visible on Sherlock's hand before putting his hands up in a placating gesture.

"Sorry, man. I didn't realize she was taken."

"Yes, because _that_ is what you should apologize for." Sherlock could not keep the disdain out of his voice as he rolled his eyes. "Come on, Molly. We shouldn't waste anymore of our time on this _cretin_. We need to hurry if we want to visit the Eiffel Tower before we have to leave."

Molly nodded, and the couple was stepping away when Sam opened his mouth once more.

"Molly! If you ever get tired of this asshole, I could show you a good time. Think about it, huh?" He leered at her, and bile rose up in Molly's throat. _The nerve of this idiot! Had he learned absolutely nothing?_

Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, however, Sam was on the floor, a furious consulting detective on top of him. Sherlock clamped his hands around the younger man's neck. Sam, blood trickling from his noticeably broken nose, was clawing at Sherlock, to no avail. The detective was out for blood, it seemed.

The scene had attracted the interest of several curious onlookers, none of which seemed inclined to stop the ongoing attack.

Seeing the murder in Sherlock's gaze, however, Molly decided it was time to step in. No matter how much she thought Sam deserved Sherlock's outrage, it was decidedly indecent to kill a man in the middle of a hotel lobby.

"Sherlock!" Molly cried, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Sherlock, stop!" He looked up at her, reason returning to him as he saw her worried face. He removed his hands and stood up.

"He's not worth it. Let's just go, Sherlock," she said softly, glancing uneasily at the security guards who had rushed over during the assault.

Sherlock took a deep breath and smoothed down his wrinkled clothing. His arm returned to its place around her shoulders, and hers wrapped around his waist. They turned their backs on the trembling and terrified Sam, who was breathing heavily, eyes wide as he wiped his bloody nose with one hand. Molly didn't spare him another glance as they walked out the doors, security following them until they had left.

They pulled away from each other almost immediately, but Molly grabbed Sherlock's hand before he could get too far way. He tilted his head to the side as she pulled him into a quiet alcove between two buildings, away from prying eyes.

"Sherlock…."

"Yes, Molly?"

"Thank you. For coming to my rescue back there, I mean."

"Well, I couldn't very well let him _rob you_ , Molly, now could I?"

"No, I know, it's just…. I appreciate it. Even though I know you don't care about me like _that_ , I –"

"You believe I do not care about you?"

"No, that's not what I…." _Why does he always twist my words around?_ "I just meant that it must have been difficult for you, acting like the jealous, protective husband. I know that we're friends and that I count. Maybe not as much as John or Mrs. Hudson, but –"

"Molly." He stopped, cupping her chin and forcing her to meet his eyes. When he confirmed that he had her full attention, he continued. "Moriarty made a mistake, assuming you didn't matter to me. For that, I am eternally grateful. I would not have survived without your help. You are the woman who saved me."

"That being said, however, I would have died for you, too, Molly Hooper. Please don't underestimate your importance to me."

Molly read the truth of his confession in his blue-green orbs and couldn't stop the smile from lighting up her face. She wiped a single tear that was dripping down her cheek and squared her shoulders, trying to pull herself together.

This was the most honest and emotional she had ever seen Sherlock, except for when he had asked for her help in faking his death. She wondered how many people had seen this side of him, as she quite liked it. Of course, she loved all the facets of his personality. There was something special, however, about this exposed and vulnerable version of Sherlock Holmes that melted her heart towards him even more.

_Maybe he doesn't love me, but at least I know he holds some affection for me. That is enough for now. It has to be._

Letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, Molly gazed up at this beautiful man. "Well, then. Now that _that's_ settled. Should we be off? The Eiffel Tower awaits."

He simply nodded his acquiescence, and the pair walked back to the crowded street.

It was not until they were nearly halfway to their destination that Molly realized she was still holding Sherlock's hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly finally make it to the Eiffel Tower Experience, and make the return trip to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest gratitude to everyone who is reading and following this story! Thank you also to everyone who left a comment! Your words are greatly appreciated!
> 
> I know I said that I hoped to have this chapter posted much sooner, but real life got in the way. My life has been a constant whirlwind of emotions for the past month. I won't bore you with any details (if you really want to know, PM me or message me on Tumblr- my URL is doctor-molly-hooper-holmes : yes, I'm proud of it), but know that future updates might also be far between. Please be patient with me. I love this story, and hope you enjoy reading it half as much as I enjoy writing it.
> 
> Since it's been awhile, a short recap of the previous chapter: Sherlock and Molly explored the Mirage in Las Vegas, where Sherlock saved Molly from an unwanted suitor, Sam. He then confessed that he would have jumped off of St. Bart's for her as well. :P
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

By the time she and Sherlock finally made it to replica of the Eiffel Tower, Molly's feet were throbbing painfully, enthusiastically chastising her for her choice in footwear. (To be fair, her flats were the only shoes she had packed that were even remotely acceptable for walking. Her heels would have been even worse.)

Her current discomfort was her own fault, really. She had been so excited, so drawn in by the sights along Las Vegas Boulevard, that she had pulled Sherlock along, forcing her short legs to move faster than they were accustomed.

If she was trying _not_ to think about Sherlock's confession, or the way he held on to her hand so fiercely ( _Almost as if he's afraid to let me go – Stop it, Molly!)_ , who could blame her? She had already wasted too much time trying to understand the inner workings of Sherlock Holmes's mind.

Sherlock, to his credit, had endured her incessant chatter and eagerness swimmingly, keeping his harsher observations to himself. In regards to her at least. He showed no such restraint towards other people, entertaining her with deductions about the tourists they passed. (During one particularly amusing deduction involving a man who had yet to realize his new girlfriend used to be a man, she had to stop walking because she was laughing too hard.)

Still, the long journey was taking its toll on her exhausted body, and her shoulders sagged in relief when she saw the Paris Las Vegas looming ahead of them. Sherlock, too, seemed filled with renewed vigor as they made their way inside to the Casino Floor.

Molly waited outside the Gift Shop as Sherlock stood in line to pick up their tickets. The tinkles and bells commonly associated with casinos assaulted her ear drums as she looked around in awe. Her gaze focused on an elderly man seated on a bench near where she stood. She walked over when he caught her eye and waved her over. He seemed harmless enough, his dimples and white hair reminding her of Santa Claus.

She sat down next to him, shifting to find a comfortable position. He smiled at her adorably before turning his attention back to the casino floor. Molly followed his gaze to a grey-haired woman sitting at one of the slot machines. She appeared deep in concentration as she kissed a cross chained around her neck and grabbed ahold of the lever.

"That's my Ellie," the man beside her pronounced in a Southern drawl (she had seen a movie once), pride evident in his voice. "Isn't she stunning?"

"She's beautiful."

"We're celebrating our fiftieth wedding anniversary this weekend. The kids pitched in to send us on this vacation."

"That's so sweet! Congratulations!"

"Thank you, dear. I'm sure a pretty girl like yourself has a fella, right?"

Molly began to reply ( _How exactly am I supposed to describe my relationship with Sherlock?)_ , but a loud clanging rang out from Ellie's machine. She threw her arms up as the high-pitched ringing continued, the word "Jackpot" flashing at the top of the slot machine.

The man beside Molly (she realized belatedly that she never caught _his_ name) shot up from his reclined position and hobbled over with his cane to his ecstatic wife. Molly watched as the couple embraced joyfully but turned away when Ellie gave her husband a passionate kiss. Some moments were not meant to be shared with a random stranger, even if a crowd had gathered when the couple first began their celebration.

Tears welled up in Molly's eyes at the gesture, evidence that love could last. Of course her thoughts wandered to Sherlock once again, and how much she wished he would look at her with the same adoration on his face as the elderly man looked at his wife.

Molly sighed as her mind conjured up images of all of the what-ifs, had she and her new husband been anyone other than Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes. She envisioned a world in which Sherlock was just an ordinary man, instead of the mesmerizing enigma who refused to believe he could care romantically about another human being.

Molly could picture in alarming detail their life together. She would bring spare body parts home from Bart's because Sherlock had just completed a case, and she didn't want him to start shooting the walls again. He, in turn, would learn how to make her favorite dish since she had never had time to learn how to cook, and he wanted to do something special for the woman who had stolen his heart. They would laugh together while performing experiments in their makeshift laboratory (matching goggles and lab coats included), and, afterwards, they would retire to their bedroom, bodies intertwined as they displayed how much they loved each other.

The images were so realistic, jolts of pain shot through Molly's abdomen at the realization that her life with Sherlock was likely to be much different.

Her mind, however, continued to taunt her with the fantasies of this other world. Perhaps, in another life, Sherlock could have loved her, too.

Molly pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind as the man in question returned to her side, passes clenched between his fingers. She gave him a soft, fleeting smile as they rode an escalator up to the bridge, where the real Eiffel Tower Experience began.

As they ascended towards the observation deck in a glass lift, a young attendant jabbered on with various facts and anecdotes, but Molly was still too caught up in her own thoughts to pay him any attention. Sherlock just rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath, staring at the city beyond the see-through walls. Occasionally, he would interrupt the man's prepared speech with questions about the replica and how it compared to its counterpart in France.

The clearing of a throat had Molly's head twisting around. Sherlock and the attendant were both looking at her curiously, eyebrows raised as they stood just outside the open door. Molly quickly apologized and scrambled out, head bowing in shame at being caught unawares by Sherlock. _Again_. Then, she turned her attention to the view behind him and forgot all about her embarrassment.

She gasped and stumbled over to the side, gazing out the window of the enclosed observation deck. Sherlock scowled as she pushed past him, but she made no notice as she was completely enthralled by the skyline of Las Vegas.

From her vantage point, she felt like she could see the entirety of the marvelous city spread out before her. Gorgeous hotels and casinos interlocked with bustling streets and residential areas, but what really caught Molly's eye was the breathtaking view of the mountains beyond Las Vegas. Molly supposed that she and Sherlock could have happily spent an afternoon exploring the neighboring wilderness for plants and wildlife if they had had more time.

"Hmm. A bit dissatisfying after seeing the _real_ Eiffel Tower in Paris. But not _completely_ horrible, either." Sherlock's disinterested tone was belied by the way he was eagerly peering at the sights beside Molly. Her snarky retort died on the tip of her tongue.

"Shut up, Sherlock," she replied, but there was no bitterness in her voice. She saw his mouth quirk up in a small half-smile from the corner of her eye. She felt his eyes on her for a moment before he turned his head back to the observation window.

Molly and Sherlock continued on in companionable silence, drifting from one side of the observation deck to the other. Neither made any move to start up a conversation; they had never needed unnecessary words to convey their opinions to each other. Molly did notice that Sherlock was always within arm's reach. He would sporadically glance around at the other tourists, glaring at any men who dared come near her.

Molly gathered that the incident with Sam must have alarmed him more than she realized and smiled to herself before moving on. She rather liked this protective side of Sherlock.

Eventually, the sun began to set, painting the horizon a stunning combination of yellows, oranges, purples and pinks. Standing on the observation deck of the (albeit fake) Eiffel Tower, the city of Las Vegas displayed before a backdrop of the most brilliant colors Molly had ever seen, was undoubtedly the most romantic venue Molly Hooper had been in her thirty-five years. _Too bad the romance is lost on my companion._ Still, it was nice to have someone with whom to share the experience.

She snapped a mental picture before turning to Sherlock, who was tapping her shoulder quite frantically. She slapped his hand away, and he held up his mobile to show her his newest text message, alerting them that it was time to head to the airport. Molly nodded her head and followed him back to the lift.

They made their way back to the main entrance, Sherlock's hand clasped firmly around hers as he pulled her along. They stepped outside into the cooling evening air, a light breeze blowing her hair into her face. She brushed a stray strand behind her ear with her free hand.

She was surprised when Sherlock led her to a black car waiting patiently in front of the casino. She opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it. She had dealt with the Holmes brothers long enough to realize they could accomplish anything if they wanted to. They could probably end world hunger if they compiled their considerable resources and actually worked together. _Like that would ever happen_ , she chuckled to herself.

Sherlock opened the car door and gestured for Molly to enter ahead of him. She slid into the far seat and was swiftly followed by Sherlock. He had barely slammed the door shut before the automobile was dashing off.

Molly rested her head against the window, taking in a final view of the city as they drove towards the airport. She focused on the way the glass fogged up every time she exhaled, trying to ignore her racing thoughts.

She was acutely aware of the man beside her, his body just a smidgeon closer to hers than was comfortable. He was tapping away on his phone, fingers flying across the keypad so fast it was almost superhuman.

In no time at all, they were pulling onto a private runway, and Molly sat up slowly. As overwhelming as this trip had been, she really was sad to see it end. Sherlock stepped out and hurried over to open her door for her, gripping her hand and dragging her out towards the awaiting plane.

Molly observed the private jet indifferently, refusing to be shocked by the Holmes' actions anymore. She scurried up the stairs and stalked onto the plane, glad to see their luggage had already been loaded.

She sank into the nearest chair, kicking her horrid shoes off and tucking her feet beneath her. Her body sagged in relief, the past day finally catching up to her. She tilted her head against the back of her seat and let out a breath.

Sherlock, to her immense astonishment, selected the chair directly beside her, although there were several others available elsewhere throughout the cabin. Exhausted by the emotional rollercoaster of the last several hours, however, she chose not to analyze his actions at the moment. There would be plenty of time to dissect the behavior of Sherlock Holmes when she lived with him and was constantly in his presence.

Molly sighed heavily at that. She closed her eyes and quickly drifted off into a deep sleep.

 

 

XXXXX

"Molly. Molly! Wake up. We have arrived."

She was awoken by a gentle voice calling her name. She snuggled in closer to the pillow beneath her head, struck by the warmth beneath her cheek. _Such an odd texture for a pillow. Hard and tough, almost like…._

Molly shot up, nearly toppling over in her hurry to remove herself from Sherlock's shoulder. _Why didn't he say anything? He could easily have pushed me off._

"S-sorry, I d-didn't mean…." She hastily backed up in embarrassment, wanting to put as much distance between them as she could.

Sherlock's movements, on the other hand, were slow and deliberate as he straightened his jacket and stood up. He was staring at Molly with a combination of amusement and curiosity, as if her discomfort greatly delighted him. Molly attempted an indignant glare (she supposed she failed miserably as his grin only widened) and huffed as she grabbed her bag and stomped towards the door.

Molly blinked as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight. Sherlock handed her a pair of dark sunglasses, which she gratefully accepted.

Another black car sat idling outside, nearly identical to the car that had driven them to the airport earlier. ( _Does Mycroft have an endless supply of these or something?_ ) She had expected Sherlock's mysterious elder brother to greet them upon arrival, but he was nowhere to be seen. Relief surged through Molly. That was one meeting she had no qualms about postponing.

She was happy to note that the media was absent from their homecoming as well.

The car ride to 221B Baker Street was spent in painful silence (Molly was beginning to sense a pattern). If all of their time together was like this, then their marriage wouldn't last through the end of the month.

Molly drank in the familiar London landmarks as they drove through the city. Had it really only been two days since she had last traversed the streets? It felt like a lifetime had passed between Sherlock asking her to accompany him to Las Vegas and now.

Panic rose in Molly as they neared Baker Street. When they had been in Las Vegas, everything had seemed so surreal, but now, she was confronted with the reality of actually beginning married life with the consulting detective. _How on earth are we going to pull this off?_

The car pulled up outside Sherlock's building. Molly forced herself to breathe and get out, hoping that her trepidation did not show in her body language. She squared her shoulders and followed Sherlock up the steps, worrying her bottom lip until she tasted blood.

The detective, seemingly oblivious to Molly's dread, strode straight up to the door and pushed it open, both his and Molly's luggage clutched in his arms. The door banged heavily against the wall as they entered.

The loud sound drew the attention of Mrs. Hudson, who scurried into the entryway to see what the commotion was about. She beamed as she saw Sherlock and Molly standing there, one looking completely unaffected while the other was shifting her feet nervously.

"Oh! Sherlock! I thought you were going to be gone for a few days on a case in the States? And Molly! Lovely to see you as always, dear!" The elderly woman rushed over to place a kiss on Molly's cheek. Molly squeezed her tight in response, taking comfort in the woman's embrace.

Molly reluctantly let go as Mrs. Hudson pulled back, confused by Molly's actions. Her brows scrunched together, but Molly was saved from her scrutiny by Sherlock.

"I'm afraid the case was shorter than expected, Mrs. Hudson. Can you please make some tea for us? We've had a tiring few days and an extremely long flight."

"Oh alright, but just this once, dears, I'm not your housekeeper!"

She began walking back into her flat before she halted and waltzed back over to them. "Sherlock, I was woken dreadfully early yesterday by loud noises coming from your flat. A couple of young men were making such an awful racket upstairs! When I confronted them, they told me they were here on your orders. Please ask them to take better care next time!" Sherlock grinned sheepishly and nodded.

Mrs. Hudson turned back to the anxious pathologist. "Molly, I'm so glad to see you coming round for a visit. It's been so lonely in the flat since John left. Maybe you could visit more often?" Her voice was hopeful as she turned to Molly once more.

Sherlock jumped in, once more saving Molly the mortification of having to explain their predicament.

"That will be entirely unnecessary, Mrs. Hudson, as Molly will be living in 221B for the foreseeable future. The 'awful racket' you heard yesterday was a few members of my homeless network moving her belongings into the flat. Her feline companion, Tobias Hooper, will be joining us as well."

"W-what?! You two are living together?!" Mrs. Hudson wore a flabbergasted expression as she glanced back and forth between Sherlock and Molly.

"Of course, Mrs. Hudson. Isn't it customary for a husband and wife to cohabitate? I confess I do not understand much about the intricacies of matrimony, but I do know _that._ " He didn't give Mrs. Hudson any time to process that before he was grabbing Molly by the hand and dragging her up the stairs. "When the tea is done, please bring it up to us."

Molly twisted her head around to shoot the elderly woman an apologetic expression. She held a shaky hand to her head, and she stared at the pair as if they had just sprouted antennae and professed to be from Venus. She appeared completely and utterly stunned.

The pathologist fleetingly wondered how often she would see that exact expression in the coming weeks when news of Sherlock's marriage spread. Then, she was being ushered into 221B, and Sherlock was staring at her with a strange expression on his face.

He suddenly pivoted and picked up his violin, long fingers lightly plucking the strings.

Molly stood there awkwardly for a moment before plopping down on the sofa. She scanned the flat, noticing several of her possessions scattered around, intermixed with Sherlock's.

Her coat hung beside the infamous Belstaff, their scarves knotted together. Her favorite photograph of her mum and her (on the day she graduated from university) was sitting on the mantel, right beside Sherlock's skull. Toby was lounging under the table, playing with a fraying tennis ball, clearly left over from a past experiment.

The scene was so domestic that Molly wanted to cry.

She glanced back at the consulting detective, only to realize that he was staring intensely at her again. He set down his instrument and took a deep breath.

"Welcome home, Molly Hooper-Holmes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review to let me know what you thought. I really struggled with this chapter, so any ideas would be greatly appreciated. Criticism does not bother me, as long as it's constructive. :)
> 
> Next chapter, I will be delving into the mind of Sherlock Holmes!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock reflects over what happened in Las Vegas, and John Watson makes his first appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo hoo! Another update!
> 
> This chapter is from Sherlock's POV, which is always terrifying. So many of you stated that Sherlock was in character after the last chapter, so I hope you still think so after this one! Many thanks to my lovely betas cumberburch and evakrose192 on Tumblr!
> 
> Disclaimer: I still own nothing. :(

Sherlock closed his eyes and mentally cursed himself. The words had spewed from his mouth, unbidden, before he had fully realized what he was saying.

What on earth had compelled him to phrase it like _that_? No matter. There were far more pressing issues at hand.

Like the fact that he was now legally bound to his pathologist.

The idea did not fill him with as much trepidation as he anticipated it would.

He strode past Molly's tense figure and took a seat in his chair, steepling his fingers underneath his chin.

"Sherlock?" Molly's gentle voice pulled him from his reverie, and he glanced up to see her standing above him, feet shifting uncertainly. He deliberately refused to admire the way she was distractedly biting her lower lip.

"Hmm?"

"I'd like to freshen up, and then rest for a bit. Jet lag and all that…. Where should I…?" She giggled nervously, blatantly ignoring the elephant that his subconscious had so effortlessly brought into the room.

He had rarely been more grateful for Molly's seemingly innate ability to read his needs and moods than at this moment.

Sherlock offhandedly waved his hand down the hall. "Last door on the right. Your things should already be in the en suite, and, if I have deduced correctly, Mrs. Hudson recently laundered and replaced the sheets."

Molly nodded in understanding and wandered off in search of a shower and sleep. Sherlock waited until he could no longer hear her quiet footsteps and grabbed his mobile from his coat pocket. He sent off a quick text message to John Watson.

_Come to Baker Street immediately. A development has sprung up, and I require your assistance. –SH_

If anyone was capable of helping him sort this out and determine the best way to proceed, it was the retired army doctor. _If he can pull himself away from his wife for a couple of hours._

The detective returned his fingers to their steepled position and retreated into his mind palace to reflect over everything that had occurred since he had woken with his arms draped around Molly Hooper.

A series of memories played consecutively on a loop as Sherlock watched, a mere observer to the scenes rushing by.

XXXXX

 _The vaguely familiar scent of strawberries, equal parts strong and sweet, assaulted Sherlock's nostrils, but his sleep-addled brain could not place exactly_ where _he had sniffed it before._

_It chose instead to focus on the material below his cheek. Even in his state, Sherlock realized that it was the softest he had ever felt. The strawberry scent grew stronger as he dug his nose in further._

_Perfectly content for the first time he could remember, Sherlock battled with the urge to simply breathe in deeply and dive back into sleep._

_Then, a small hand pulled on his arm, and the detective became acutely aware of another body snuggled in his embrace. His eyes flew open as he finally placed the source of the elusive scent._

Molly. _He was currently burying his nose in her hair._

_The two occupants of the bed pulled away from one another simultaneously, and he quickly deduced what they had done the previous night, although his actual memories of the evening were practically non-existent. The evidence was scattered around the suite._

_His suit thrown chaotically on the floor and his tie dangling from the bedside lamp, coupled with his current lack of clothing, painted a vivid picture. The gold band on his left hand, however, spoke volumes all on its own. Sherlock's mind momentarily froze as he absentmindedly stroked the cold metal._

_His head turned automatically to Molly, who was staring at him with terror in her wide, brown eyes._

_He refused to examine why he wasn't nearly as horrified as she was._

_Molly let out a curse that had him raising his eyebrows in surprise. She had certainly summed up their predicament with that one well-chosen word. He wondered if she uttered that same word under other circumstances…._

_Lost in his admiration, Sherlock barely registered how his eyes had drifted down from Molly's face, taking in her exposed skin, almost against his will. Almost_. _(Simple scientific curiosity. Obviously.)_

_A pang of regret shot through him as Molly noticed where his attention had wandered and tightened the blanket around her body, effectively hiding herself from his view._

_He decided it was time to sit up, but instantly regretted the action as blood pounded against his temple in a bruising staccato. He groaned and rubbed his aching head, even as he noted Molly pushing herself up beside him._

_Molly was obviously fretting over their situation, probably trying to convince herself that this was all a joke. Sherlock had already noticed their marriage license lying on the table, evidently placed there in their haste to consummate their union._

_Sherlock wanted to tell her that they would fix this. That she should have faith in him like she always did, even when the rest of the world had considered him a fraud. She should believe that he could accomplish anything if he deemed it important enough. Sherlock knew that is where Molly's trust would fail. She always had such a hard time understanding her significance to him. This was likely the most important event in his entire 36 years (besides faking his death, but now was really not the time to bring THAT up again). He would just have to convince her._

_He was trying to find a way to express himself when his hand reached out and grabbed her wrist of its own accord. He released her hurriedly, but not before observing how warm and soft her skin felt against his._

_Sherlock took a moment to gather his thoughts together once more, and was mildly amused when he realized Molly was ogling him. He flushed with masculine pride, not unlike a peacock preening its feathers. Molly did not even look ashamed. Instead, he could virtually hear her thoughts ("Looks like we're even now.")._

_Her name had just left his lips when they were interrupted by the ringing of his mobile. Only one person could possibly be ringing him at a time like this…._

XXXXX

The memory faded to grey as another took its place.

XXXXX

 _Sherlock stormed out of the suite, the wall rattling as he pulled the door roughly closed behind him. He had been determined (and, dare he admit,_ desperate _) to convince Molly to agree they should remain married. It was really the only logical solution._

_The images in the video, however, swam through his mind and left him speechless. Emotions he refused to name swirled through him until he felt like he was drowning. He ignored the voice in his head that told him he was running away, and opted to take the stairs rather than wait for the lift, not wanting to chance Molly chasing after him._

_Not that she would, of course. Molly was more in tune to his feelings than he was sometimes. (It terrified him that she could read him so easily, when he had always been so careful to keep the vulnerable part of himself hidden.)_

_He took the stairs two at a time, bursting out into the main lobby in no time at all. The banging of the door against the wall caused the insufferable desk clerk to straighten in his seat. The boy brightened when he noticed the detective, but Sherlock hardly glanced at him as he strode towards the front desk._

_"That wedding video. Where was it taken?" That same voice in the back of his mind, sounding eerily similar to John, chastised him for his unnecessary brusqueness, but Sherlock brushed it aside._

_"I-I'm s-sorry, sir?"_

_"The video. The one my companion and I retrieved less than thirty minutes ago. Where. Was. It. Taken?" Sherlock bit out, barely resisting the impulse to roll his eyes at the young man._

_"Oh. The hotel wedding chapel. Just down the –" His reply was cut short as Sherlock stalked away without a word._

_Sherlock's gait slowed as he approached the small chapel, apprehension swelling within him. He was about to unearth some of the details about what had transpired between him and Molly the night before._

_He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, reminding himself that this was just another case, and pushed through the door._

_The first person he noticed was the man who had performed the matrimonial ceremony, diligently focused on the computer in front of him as he typed. (Setting up a reservation._ Boring. _)_

_Sherlock cleared his throat, and the man's head shot up in surprise. When he noticed the detective glaring at him, he gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. His eyes widened, his cheeks blushing bright red. The older man stood up quickly, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers._

_"Didn't expect to see you again so soon, sir. H-how can I help you?"_

_"I was married last night."_

_The man's brow furrowed in confusion. "Y-yes. Did you receive the video we sent this morning? You were very adamant that we deliver it first thing."_

_"Yes, my… Molly and I retrieved it from the front desk earlier. That is not the issue. It appears she and I have… misplaced our memories of last evening, and I would like you to fill in some of the gaps for me."_

_"Of course. We have couples come in here all the time that have had a bit too much to drink, if you understand my meaning. My sister and I try to weed out those we suspect aren't thinking clearly and are likely to regret their decision in the morning."_

_"Then why didn't you stop us?"_

_"Well, you see, you both seemed so genuinely happy. You couldn't keep your hands off of each other." The man's cheeks reddened even more. "And you were both extremely coherent. To be honest, you didn't appear drunk at all. We thought you had maybe had a glass of wine or two, to celebrate your engagement, but were you too drunk to make an informed decision? Definitely not."_

_Sherlock observed the man's calm explanation and his level gaze._ Telling the truth, then. Very interesting, indeed.

_"Did you notice anything remotely out of the ordinary about our behavior?"_

_"Well, you were both very blunt, although your lady was more courteous about it then you were." The faint hint of bitterness in the man's tone did not go unnoticed by the detective. "She told me the wedding set-up was lovely, if the scent was a bit overwhelming. You, on the other hand, told my sister that her hat belonged in the rubbish bin behind the casino. The audacity!" the man uttered under his breath._

_Sherlock felt a twinge of remorse but ignored it. "Anyways, moving on…. Any other strange behavior besides excessive honesty?"_

_"Not that I can recall, no." The elderly man placed a finger to his lips, deep in thought. Suddenly, his face lit up. "Maybe you should talk to that waiter!"_

_"Waiter? What waiter?" The detective tried to keep the excitement out of his voice, but the intrigue of a new clue was too stimulating._

_"The one who brought you to us. He said you two wished to be married as soon as possible and were willing to pay whatever was necessary. You began nodding your head in agreement and pulled out a credit card. How could Lilah and I refuse?"_

_Sherlock overlooked the man's obvious greed in favor of additional information. "And this waiter? What was his name?"_

_"Something starting with an 'A', I think. Alex? Andrew? Something like that." Sherlock spared the man one last glare before turning on his heel and walking towards the exit. He was just about to leave when the old man's voice stopped him._

_"Mr. Holmes?" he called out. When Sherlock twisted his head around to look at him once more, he continued. "Do give Mrs. Holmes my regards. Such a lovely lady. Why she's so in love with someone like you…."_

_"Will forever remain a mystery to me as well. Good day." With that, Sherlock swept out of the little chapel…._

XXXXX

The scene once more faded to black. Instead of being replaced by a single memory, however, snippets of recollections danced before his eyes, a kaleidoscope of emotions that left him reeling.

 _Relief when Molly agreed to remain married…. Annoyance upon reading the Woman's taunting note…. Anger at seeing the dastardly American flirting with Molly, heightened to pure hatred as the man leered at the pathologist. He hadn't even realized what he was doing until Molly's soft voice had pulled him from his trance, his hands wrapped around the man's neck…. Tingles as his hand came in contact with Molly's back, and the realization that he quite liked touching her…. Amusement as he followed Molly down the Las Vegas strip, secretly enjoying the faces she made as she took in the sights…. The way his heart clenched uncomfortably when he saw her brilliant smile after he confessed that he would have jumped for her, too…. The sense of_ rightness _that filled him when Molly fell asleep with her head on his shoulder…._

Sherlock wanted to slow down the memories, give himself some time to comprehend what they _meant_ , but his mind kept playing automatically, oblivious to Sherlock's discomfort.

He heard Mrs. Hudson greeting John downstairs and offered up a silent "thank you" to his ex-flat mate's exquisite timing. He looked over to the front door to 221B just as it opened to reveal the concerned face of John Watson.

( _Frown lines indicate worry, but there is no indication of anger in his posture or expression. Conclusion: Mrs. Hudson has not divulged my marital status._ )

"Sherlock, is everything all right? I asked Mrs. Hudson if she knew what was going on, but she told me I had to talk to you."

Sherlock gestured to John's empty chair, which had remained largely unused since the doctor had moved out. Sherlock couldn't bring himself to get rid of it, however. He had briefly moved it upstairs, but his arm chair had looked so lonely sitting there by itself.

John took the seat and looked at the detective curiously. Sherlock realized the doctor was making deductions of his own. He still had missed the most vital clue, however, prominently visible on Sherlock's left hand.

"You look exhausted, Sherlock. You really should sleep more."

"I slept less than twenty four hours ago. I have at least two more days before I require respite once more," Sherlock scoffed, still daring John to observe for himself.

"Sherlock, why did you ask me to come over? What is going on? Why did Mrs. Hudson look like she was simultaneously going to cry and throw a party?"

"Well, John, as you know, I have been away on a case for the past few days…." Sherlock spoke slowly, as if explaining the alphabet to a child. John glared at his friend, unamused.

"Oh very well. Might as well get it over with, then. I did not inform you that I asked Molly Hooper to accompany me on said case. Or that the case was given to me by one Irene Adler, who was residing in Las Vegas, Nevada."

John gasped. "The Woman?! What mystery could she possibly have needed you to solve? And I thought she was dead?!"

"Obviously, I helped her fake her death, though that is hardly relevant at this point. There was no case, as it turns out. She _missed me_." Derision dripped from his tone. "She wished to have dinner, but changed her mind once she realized I had brought Molly along."

"Okay…. But I still don't see what you need my assistance with. Is Molly upset that you introduced her to the Woman?"

"No, they quite liked each other, it seems. Ms. Adler bowed out gracefully when she realized I was not interested in her proposal. Or so I thought…." Sherlock drifted off, once more lost in his own mind. John had to call his name twice before he caught his attention again.

"Sherlock, what…?" John stopped talking as a large white and orange tabby jumped onto Sherlock's lap. The detective stroked the purring feline idly, seemingly oblivious to its presence.

"Sherlock?" John called again. "Why is there a cat in the flat?" Sherlock turned his head towards John, observing the man who was finally beginning to put the pieces together.

"Hmm? Oh, Tobias? He's Molly's cat."

"Yes, but why is Molly's cat at 221B?"

At John's narrowed eyes, Sherlock let out a big sigh. "Well, you see…. The reason I called you over is because, apparently, the Woman drugged Molly and I. When we awoke the next morning, we were curled up together in my bed. _Naked_ , obviously."

"So, you slept with Molly? And now you don't know how to deal with that?" Since his marriage to Mary, John had come to the conclusion that Sherlock held secret feelings for Molly. _Something about the increased amount of time Sherlock spent at St. Bart's and Sherlock inviting Molly to help him with cases more frequently._ It seemed he thought this development had proven him right. _Wait until he hears the rest._

"Not quite." He was stalling, delaying the inevitable, but could not stop himself. The smug look on John's face would only grow bigger if he revealed the truth.

"Well? Sherlock, seriously! It can't be that bad!" John threw his hands up in exasperation and pushed out of his chair. He was walking towards the door when Sherlock finally spoke.

"Molly and I got married, John."

Sherlock closed his eyes and hunched his shoulders, waiting for the reprimand he knew was inevitable. ( _"What the hell were you thinking, you git? Do you know how this will affect Molly?"_ ) The harsh words never came, however, and he opened his eyes to reveal John Watson, standing in exactly the same spot. He was blinking rapidly, mouth hanging wide open.

Sherlock was about to ask if his friend was okay when John finally moved, reclaiming his seat. In the next moment, he lifted his head and met Sherlock's gaze before throwing his head back and laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love it? Hate it? Please leave a review and let me know!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock talk, and a little more about Sherlock's investigation in Las Vegas is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I say anything else, I would like to thank everyone who is reading this story! I cannot believe the overwhelming response this fun little plot bunny has gotten! A personal thank you to everyone who has taken the time to leave a review! I love hearing what you think!
> 
> I have not been able to respond to all of the reviews, but I do need to address one, as other people might be wondering the same thing. One guest reviewer mentioned they would like this story better if I added smut. I do not write smut. If you look at my profile, all of my stories are T and below, because I am not comfortable writing it. Unfortunately, if that is what you are looking for, then this is probably not the story for you. The furthest I will go is suggestive dialogue and "fade to black" kind of scenarios. That being said, I hope you keep reading anyway! (And if you really want to read some good smut, I can direct you to some fantastic writers.)
> 
> A few weeks ago, I posted a little snippet of an upcoming (very far in the future, probably) chapter, so if anyone is interested, you can go to my tumblr (URL: doctor-molly-hooper-holmes), and search "All In". That is about as smutty as I am willing to go. :)
> 
> I had planned to have this written during Spring Break, but real life got in the way. To make up for it, here is the longest chapter I have ever written! Not much Sherlolly interaction, but John is awesome. He is and always will be my favorite, and I hope you understand why after this chapter. Sincerest gratitude to tchager13 on Tumblr, who graciously offered to Beta this chapter, and helped me ensure John was not quite as bipolar as he was in the original draft. Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: Still don't own Sherlock. If I did, Molly and Mary would have their own spin-off where they solve crimes together.

Sherlock drummed his fingers idly and glowered at his best friend. The doctor had been laughing heartily for ten minutes now, and Sherlock was not amused. This was not the direction he had imagined this conversation going. A need for air momentarily halted John's merriment, but one look at Sherlock's expression set off another round of giggles. John was actually giggling at his predicament.

"I'm thrilled you find my situation so comical, John," Sherlock hissed out at last, his voice tinged with annoyance.

"I-I'm… sorry… Sh-sherlock," John managed to get out between guffaws. "It's j-just… you… and…." John lost himself once more, his face ruddy from a lack of oxygen.

"Very well, John. I can see you will be of no help in this matter. I rather thought I could count on your advice and assistance, but it seems I was mistaken. You may see yourself out once you get a hold on yourself." Sherlock made to stand up.

"Sherlock, wait!" John paused, gulping in a great lungful of air to calm himself. The irritated detective sunk back into his seat. "I'm sorry, really I am. It's just that, well, you and Molly are two of the most intelligent people I know."

"Yes, John, thank you for stating the obvious. If there is a point to your trivial chatter, please spit it out immediately. I have much more important matters to focus on than deducing whatever it is you are trying to say."

John's eyes narrowed at his former flat mate. "I'm getting to it, you git! Shut up and listen!" Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms, but remained silent. John took this as acquiescence and continued. "Good. _Now_ , to finish what I was saying before _someone_ so rudely interrupted, you and Molly are both extremely clever individuals. So you'll have to forgive me if I am shocked that the pair of you has managed to do something so unbelievably _stupid_."

Sherlock glared once more and opened his mouth to retort, but John held up one finger to stop him. "Don't argue with me! _You got married in Las Vegas, Sherlock_. Of course I find it bloody hilarious. The great consulting detective reduced to a Hollywood cliché! Ooh! I can see the headlines now. 'Resurrected Detective Falls for Doctor of Death'. Or maybe something simpler, like 'Hooper Hooks Holmes'. That's some nice alliteration, I need to write that down for the blog…."

Sherlock scoffed as John searched for a pen and paper. "Molly and I were _drugged_ , John. If all you are going to do is make jokes at our expense, then I do believe we are done here." John huffed and rolled his eyes. He took a deep breath to calm himself but snapped when he noticed Sherlock's smirk, the detective assuming he had won the argument.

"Seriously, Sherlock?!" He took a deep breath to calm himself, but his control snapped when he noticed Sherlock's smirk, the detective assuming he had won the argument. "Need I remind you that the pair of you faked your death, while I watched, by the way, and then convinced me you were dead for two years?! If I choose to find some humor in your discomfort, _I think I've earned the bloody right_!" John crossed his arms and pouted like a child. Sherlock would have laughed at his expression if he wasn't afraid John would hit him.

Instead, the detective shrugged but refused to make eye contact, choosing instead to survey his fingernails. He wouldn't say he was ashamed, per say (he had done it all to protect the people he cared about, after all), but if John wanted to interpret his actions as such, Sherlock certainly wouldn't correct him. "Very well, John. Have your fun. But please try to remember that this is a serious matter, and that the lives of two of your friends have been irrevocably altered by this 'Hollywood cliché', as you so eloquently described it."

John, the gravity of the situation finally hitting him, quietly cleared his throat and placed his hands in his lap. His cheeks were still reddened from both his laughing fit and his tirade, and he was breathing heavier than normal. "Right, right. Hell of a predicament you've found yourself in, mate."

Sherlock understood the phrase for the white flag that it was. Grateful, he rewarded his friend with one of his rare smiles. "Yes, John, I believe we have established that."

"I suppose the two of you are aiming for a rapid and quiet divorce, then?"

"No, we have decided to stay married."

John opened his mouth as if to reply, but quickly shut it and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He blinked furiously for several minutes, staring at his friend with a stunned expression. The only sound in the flat was Toby mewing from somewhere down the hall, the feline having scampered off during John's laughing fit.

"What do you mean, you have decided to stay married?"

"I should think that was obvious, John."

"And Molly agreed to this?" Skepticism laced his tone.

"Well, she was uncertain at first, but, once I explained the logic behind my decision, she readily accepted." The detective furrowed his brows. When he phrased it like _that_ , it sounded as though she only agreed for his sake. Surely, Molly wouldn't have done this just to make him happy. _Oh. This is Molly. The most selfless person I know. Of course she would_.

"You really are a selfish bastard, aren't you? Molly's been in love with you for years. I don't have to be the world's only consulting detective to know that. Do you realize what this could do to her, Sherlock? Playing house with you when there's very little chance that you will return her feelings? Or admit them if you do?"

"John, I…. Can you at least allow me to explain? Then, we can get back to the matter of The Woman and determining what exactly she did to Molly and me."

"Fine, Sherlock. But this better be good, or so help me God…."

"I awoke with Molly wrapped in my arms and no recollection of the previous evening. After discussing with Molly, it was discovered that she shared my lapse in memory. Mycroft – yes, John, _he knows_ – informed me that, while we couldn't recall anything, we had, in fact, been very productive. Somehow, Molly had already been added as a joint holder in all of my bank accounts, and a call to her landlord ensured that she could get out of her lease. In fact, he'd already rented out her flat. Members of the homeless network had already begun moving her belongings into Baker Street. As of now, this is the only place she has to stay."

"So you convinced her to stay married because she had nowhere else to go? That makes absolutely no sense, Sherlock. There are some definite flaws in that reasoning."

"Well, my mother had also already learned of my marriage. Mummy has always been very open about her belief in the sanctity of matrimony." Sherlock gulped as he imagined the look on Violet Holmes's face if she learned her son had gotten divorced, less than three days after his wedding had taken place.

"She really is a remarkable woman, isn't she? She can make even you cower in fear. But even that isn't everything. She's your mother. She'd still love you, even if you did something she disagreed with. No, you aren't telling me something. What is it, Sherlock?"

John's eyes bore into his, begging Sherlock to be honest. Sherlock looked down at his hands, unable to maintain eye contact with the intensity of John's gaze. The detective was surprised to find they were shaking. _When had that happened?_ The conversation was spinning out of his control, creeping closer and closer to that thing, _sentiment_ , which he had always professed to despise. He knew what John desired him to confess (to be honest, a part of him wanted to confess it, to ease the weight constricting his chest), but he settled for a half-truth instead.

"John, I…. I used to like being alone. Preferred it even. But after spending two years with no one but low-life criminals to keep me company, I find that I… crave human interaction more than before. And the thought of having someone here with me at 221B, of having _Molly_ here with me at 221B, is not… horrible. At least it is more desirable than the alternative."

While the explanation was true (his appreciation for his friends had increased exponentially during his time away), it sounded like an excuse even to Sherlock. He suspected that John knew this. He feigned nonchalance and waited anxiously to see if the ex-army doctor would press further.

John sighed in resignation. "Very well, Sherlock." The detective let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "You know if you ever need me, Mary and I's flat is only five minutes from here. All you have to do is ask, and I'll be here in a heartbeat."

"I know, John, it's just… not the same anymore. And I realize that I'm mostly to blame for that."

"No, it's not the same, and, yes, I'm still _furious_ at you, but you're my best friend, Sherlock. Nothing is ever going to change that."

Both men looked away from each other, trying to hide the moisture accumulating in their eyes. John coughed self-consciously before speaking again. "That being said, if you lie to me or hurt Molly again, I will not be responsible for my actions. I might actually kill you this time. And Greg and Mary will help me bury your body so that not even Mycroft could find it."

"Noted. And who is Greg? Some ex-boyfriend of Molly's, of whom I am unaware?" Spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke, hoping it didn't sound as much like an accusation as he suspected.

"DI Lestrade, you prat! Can you please stop pretending like you don't know his name? Make a mental note or something." Sherlock's head bobbed up and down in agreement. "Good. Now, you said neither of you remember anything. Knowing you, you've already begun investigating. What have you discovered so far?"

Sherlock smirked at his friend, and quickly recounted the morning after and his phone conversation with Mycroft. John choked back a laugh as he listened to Sherlock's story, nearly doubling over again as the detective described the video of his wedding to Molly. "What is it this time, John?" he asked impatiently.

"Well it's just… you're probably the only man I know who would look so uncomfortable at the image of snogging a beautiful woman," John snickered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and groaned. "Fine, John. Yes, I snogged Molly Hooper after wedding her in a ceremony neither of us remember because we were influenced by an as-of-yet unidentified substance. Yes, we _slept together_ and are now cohabitating. Yes, we are married and will continue to be so. Now, can I continue or would you prefer to discuss insignificant facts in more detail?"

John's eyebrows rose in surprise at his outburst, and Sherlock immediately realized he had made a mistake. A mischievous grin lit up the doctor's face. "I thought you said you didn't remember anything about that night, Sherlock."

"Well, I do recall… flashes. Everything is fractured and unclear, but, yes, I do remember… that. In part, at least." The back of Sherlock's neck burned as he made his confession. His eyes drifted to the side as he made a show of clearing his throat. "Where was I?"

"You had just left the room and were going to talk to the wedding chapel manager."

"Ah, yes." John's eyes widened comically as he listened to Sherlock's account of the interrogation.

"Once I discerned that I could not gain any more knowledge from the man, I left him and went in search of the waiter he had mentioned."

"Did you find him?"

Sherlock gifted John with a look that clearly stated exactly what he thought of his inane question.

"Of course you did. What did he say, then?"

Sherlock closed his eyes as the memory drifted to the forefront of his mind.

XXXXX

 _Sherlock swept into the dining room of the restaurant he and Molly had dined at with the Woman, impatiently searching for the person in charge. A brunette woman (_ Mid-twenties, currently at graduate school studying business management, single _) standing nearby had audibly inhaled when he strode in. She held a clipboard in her perfectly manicured hands. From the way the other employees were looking to her for guidance on how to deal with his intrusion, he quickly deduced she must be the manager._

_"Excuse me, sir, but we do not open for business for another thirty minutes. We would be happy to help you at that time." She gave him a dazzling smile that was completely wasted on the detective. Sensing she was more likely to assist him without question if he changed his approach, however, he schooled his features into a flirtatious smile as he stared down at her._

_"I apologize for bothering you, Miss, but I was wondering if you could locate one of your employees. He was my waiter last evening, and it is imperative that I speak with him immediately." He widened his eyes and pursed his bottom lip to give himself an air of sincerity and desperation. The woman visibly melted under his gaze, shoulders sagging in admiration._

_"C-certainly, sir." She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a giggle, and Sherlock had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at the display._

_"He had short, black hair, was extremely tan, and I believe his name started with an A."_

_"That sounds like Aaron. H-he's in the back, getting ready for the lunch rush."_

_"Could you go get him for me?" Sherlock's smile was completely fake now, and he wondered how anyone could believe it was genuine. Nevertheless, the woman blushed and nodded her head._

_"Just wait right here, sir. I'll be right back!" As soon as the woman scurried off, Sherlock dropped the smile and stood up straighter, his hands clasped behind his back. He turned on his heel and casually observed the scene around him, watching the servers rush to and fro as they prepared for their guests to arrive._

_Sherlock pivoted back around at the sound of hurried footsteps. The manager was followed by a young man, whose eyes grew wide as saucers as he noticed the detective. Sherlock recognized him instantly as the same waiter who had served them the previous night._

_The woman marched into Sherlock's personal space, batting her eyelashes at him. Sherlock took a step back and turned his attention to the young waiter. "Thank you. Can you please let us converse in private?" he said to the woman without taking his eyes off of the man._

_"I suppose…," she declared. Before she left, Sherlock felt her slip something into the inside pocket of his jacket. It was not until much later that he recognized that it was her telephone number. (It was promptly thrown away after this realization.)_

_"Well…," Aaron began, eyes darting everywhere except the consulting detective._

_"Aaron, is it?" The dark-haired boy nodded. "I have some questions for you regarding last night."_

_Aaron's head shot up at this, his face taking on an uncomfortable expression as his cheeks flushed._ Odd _._

_"Yes, sir?"_

_"I and my female companion were married last night, but, unfortunately, we cannot recollect much. The manager of the wedding chapel sent me to you. You brought us to the chapel?"_

_"Y-yes, but only because you asked me to, sir. You really can't remember anything?"_

_"I do believe I just stated that. The last I can recall, you had just delivered our food. What can you tell me about what happened next?"_

_"I brought you your dinner, and then I went to check on my other tables. You and your girlfriend seemed to be a lot happier after that really hot lady up and left, so I figured you'd be okay on your own for a couple minutes." Sherlock could not bring himself to correct the boy's assumption about his romantic attachment to Molly. The gold ring currently adorning his left ring finger offered clear evidence that they were more than mere acquaintances._

" _About twenty minutes later I came back, and…." The boy trailed off, his cheeks reddening even further._

_"I really don't have all day. Just tell me! Please," he added as an afterthought._

_"She was sitting on your lap, okay?! You two were all over each other, and, normally, I wouldn't have minded, but you were making some of the other customers uncomfortable. My boss made me go over and ask if you two would either wait until later or leave."_

_"And?" Sherlock prompted, almost afraid of what his answer would be._

_"Your girlfriend got all excited and said you were getting married. I'm surprised you could breathe with how tightly her arms were wrapped around your neck. Then you asked if there was anywhere nearby that you could get married right away, because the two of you had waited long enough, whatever that meant. I told you about the chapel and how they charged extra for last minute events, but you told me money was no problem. You paid your check, I escorted you to the chapel, and we went our separate ways. The last I saw of the two of you, you were signing papers at the chapel."_

_"Do you happen to know where the bottle of wine that we were drinking went?"_

_"The wine? It was gone by the time I came back. You'd drank it all. I imagine the bottle is somewhere in the dumpster out back."_

_Sherlock squinted his eyes, rapidly taking in every detail of the young man standing in front of him. (_ Breathing steady, making eye contact, uncomfortable with the memory but not the current situation _.) Concluding that the waiter was telling the truth, he unclasped his hands from behind his back and held one out to the boy. Aaron eyed him warily for a moment before hesitantly shaking his hand._

_"Thank you, Aaron. Your information has been most helpful."_

_"I-it has?" he responded, a confused expression on his face._

_"Yes. You have given me a lot to think about. Now, I suggest you get back to work before the luncheon crowd comes in."_

_"Right." He pocketed the bill Sherlock had given him as a tip and practically sprinted back to his fellow waiters, all of whom were lingering nearby, anxious to learn what the handsome stranger had wanted._

_Sherlock strode back out the way he came. It was time to return to Molly._

XXXXX

"Then what happened?" John asked. Sometime during Sherlock's story, he had leant towards Sherlock, so he was sitting on the very edge of the chair, listening in rapture to the tale.

"I returned to the room, where Molly agreed to stay married. After she ate lunch and I packed up our belongings, we went sight-seeing for a few hours and boarded the plane. You should be able to deduce the rest." If John noticed Sherlock's reluctance to give details about their Las Vegas excursion, he didn't mention it.

"You came straight back here, I presume?" Sherlock nodded, and John tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. "So if Toby is here, Molly is still here as well?"

"Yes."

"Where is she, exactly?"

Sherlock pointed down the hallway. "She was extremely tired after our ordeal, even though she slept for most of the flight. I sent her to get cleaned up and rest some more."

"So, you mean, she's…."

"Yes."

"In…?"

"Yes." John laughed, and Sherlock's eyebrows scrunched together. "What?"

"I just never thought you'd let anyone else sleep in there. You're such a creature of habit. Molly is going to be good for you, mate. I can tell." John's phone beeped, and he grinned as he read the message. He clapped his hands together.

"As much as I'd love to stay and help you sort all of this out, my wife is requesting my presence. I'll come by again tomorrow, and we can begin tracking down Irene Adler. That is what you intend to do next, correct?"

"Of course, John. None of this will make sense until I talk to her." John stood up and walked to the door. Just as he was pulling it open, however, Sherlock called out his name.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John looked at him over his shoulder, concern clearly written on his face.

"For what it's worth, the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt Molly. I will try to ensure that does not happen. She is important to me, even if Moriarty didn't realize it. "

John stared at his friend for a moment before striding over to him and wrapping him in a fierce hug. "I'm proud of you, Sherlock," he whispered in his best friend's ear. With that, he released Sherlock and hurried out of 221B.

Sherlock stood, unable to move, for several minutes before finally snapping out of his reverie. Realizing he hadn't showered since before his and Molly's dinner with the Woman, he quickly made his way to his bathroom. After cleaning himself up, he changed into his pajamas (the maroon silk pants Mummy had given him last Christmas and nothing else) and crawled into his bed, ignoring the warm lump on the other side of the bed. The back of his head had scarcely hit the pillow before he drifted off into blissful slumber.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Sherlock set some ground rules for their marriage.

Molly awoke the next morning to the rather unfamiliar sensation of warm air blowing against her neck. Smiling, she let out a quiet sigh as something soft brushed against her temple, nuzzling into her. Assuming Toby was desperate for both affection and his breakfast, she reached behind her to stroke his silky fur, only for her hand to brush against the much thicker (but still as soft) texture of human hair instead. A deep, masculine (and decidedly un-feline-like) groan rumbled throughout her entire body. An arm wrapped around her waist ( _How had she missed_ that _?_ ) tightened around her shortly thereafter.

Molly slowly blinked open her eyes, as memories of the past few days returned in rapid succession. She remembered arriving at Baker Street, and the uncomfortable exchange between Sherlock and herself. After her shower, she briefly registered the voice of John Watson interspersed with Sherlock's before she had grabbed a sleep shirt from the vanity and slipped it over her head. She had quickly lost herself in the peaceful oblivion of a fitful night's rest, cocooned in a vaguely familiar masculine scent. Apparently, her…. (Husband? Friend? _Sherlock_ , she finally decided.) Yes, _Sherlock_ had made his way into the bedroom at some point during her slumber and draped himself around her, so that she was now _cuddling_ with the world's only consulting detective.

As she tried to pull away from his hold, however, the limb around her midsection constricted even further, pulling her closer to the warm, well-defined body at her back. She shivered at the contact, unable to completely dispel her body's innate reaction. She turned in his embrace, only to meet the sight of a sleeping Sherlock Holmes. While she had seen him asleep before, when he would occasionally use her flat for shelter during his time abroad, this was the first chance she had to really observe him in such a state. Before, she had felt like she was intruding on a private moment, witnessing a part of him she had no right to see. After their adventure in Las Vegas, however, she threw caution to the wind and reveled in the serene picture.

She was close enough to count the individual eyelashes that decorated his cheekbones. His body, normally so jittery, as though he had a million thoughts racing through his head all at once, was completely still, his hair mussed from sleep. It was his face, however, that truly drew her: a small smile lit up his mouth, and Molly briefly wondered what he was dreaming about, that could bring about such a soft expression in the otherwise stoic consulting detective.

She was content to lie with him like this for a while longer. When he began nuzzling her throat with his nose, however, she decided she had better end this now to save both of them further embarrassment.

"Sherlock!" she hissed quietly, shaking his shoulders gently. She called his name again when he did not respond.

Two things happened simultaneously. Sherlock's eyes shot open, hastily taking in his current position, and, as though by instinct, he roughly pushed Molly away from him, causing her to roll off the bed and land on the floor with a loud _thump_.

"Oomph!" Molly laid there on her back for a few moments, trying to regain the breath which had been knocked out of her during her tumble. A head of sleep-rumpled curls peeked over the side of the bed, a dark sheet covering the majority of the consulting detective's face. All she could make out were his gorgeous blue-green eyes, usually so alight with intelligence and deductions. Currently, they were riddled with something akin to guilt.

"M-Molly?!" Sherlock called out sheepishly, his deep voice muffled by the sheet. "Are you alright?"

Finally convinced she could stand without gasping for air, Molly pulled herself up so that she was towering over the detective. She hastily rubbed her sore backside, trying to alleviate some of the pain. Her palms warmed the skin through the thin material of her sleep shirt. "Alright?!" She let out a harsh laugh. "Do I bloody well look alright, Sherlock?!"

"Of course. You always look better than alright, Molly. Obviously," he drawled, gazing at her thoughtfully, his head tilted to the side as his eyes roved up and down her figure. Molly choked down on the urge to scoff at him, and hoped she was not blushing as much as she thought she was. He sat up to better ascertain her condition and bring himself eye level with her. As a consequence, the sheet fell down to his waist, exposing his bare chest to her once more. She forced her eyes to remain glued to his as she glowered at him, her free hand on her hip.

Her mind was torn between two widely differing emotions. She was still annoyed at Sherlock for all but kicking her out of bed. On the other hand, she wondered how many other people could say they had awoken to a semi-nude Sherlock Holmes in their bed on two separate occasions in less than forty-eight hours. ( _You go, girl!_ the portion of Molly that was still a hormone-ravaged teenager screamed.)

Molly told herself to stay strong. "That is not what I meant and you know it! And, as thrilled as I am to know my new husband finds the sight of my face in the morning so enticing that he has to shove me onto the floor, why are you here, anyway? I know I was alone when I went to sleep."

"I was tired, Molly. It turns out that erroneously marrying my pathologist was more arduous than I would have anticipated." His tone was matter-of-fact, as though he had no inkling of why she was upset. _Maybe he doesn't_ , she realized. She bit down on her callous retort.

"Oookay. That still doesn't explain why you chose _this_ bed. Couldn't you have slept in your own?"

"This _is_ my bed. Honestly, Molly, did the décor not give it away? I would have thought even you could deduce that glaringly obvious detail." He punctuated his statement with an eye roll, pointing behind her. Turning her head slowly, Molly realized that a large periodic table decorated the majority of the wall, contrasting drastically with the distinctive wallpaper that covered the flat.

"Oh," she muttered to herself. Now that she was finally considering the rest of her surroundings, Molly realized that she really should have known whose room this was. The organized chaos should have been her first clue, followed by the test tubes resting on the windowsill, containing liquids of various colors and consistencies. One particularly nasty-looking beaker, containing some sort of green goo, had Molly wrinkling her nose. Sure, she had a passion for all scientific endeavors, but some things should only be undertaken in the sterile environment of a laboratory.

"Right. Why didn't you send me to John's old room, then? I would have been perfectly content there."

Sherlock tilted his head to the side and regarded her for a moment. "Isn't it customary for husband and wife to share a bed? I have been adamant about my lack of knowledge in this area, but that seems fairly straightforward. Besides, mine is much better than that eyesore that John left behind." ( _Oh shut up, you git!_ She heard the doctor's reply in the back of her mind and tried not to smile.)

Molly sighed. Why couldn't she have accidentally married a normal bloke? Someone who understood the uncomfortable situation he was placing them in? ( _Because you're in love with Sherlock Holmes,_ her traitorous mind replied.)

"Sherlock, I think we need to set some ground rules. This isn't a real marriage." Sherlock's face fell, although it was back to his normal cool façade of nonchalance after a split second. If Molly hadn't been so in tune to the nuances of Sherlock Holmes, she might have missed it.

"No, that's not…. Damn it! That came out wrong….I meant that… we only agreed to stay married because it was the most logical option at the time. Right?" She sat down next to him, looking up at him through her lashes. Molly wasn't sure which answer she dreaded more. If Sherlock agreed with her, she'd know for sure that everything that had happened was a mistake. A regret.

If he disagreed, however…. Well, Molly _really_ didn't want to stumble down that rabbit hole of hope and inevitable heartbreak again.

"Right." Sherlock took a deep breath and nodded his head. "Of course." The pair stared at each other for a moment longer, until Sherlock clapped his hands together, breaking the silence. "What did you have in mind?"

"Huh?" Molly asked dumbly, still mesmerized by the vulnerability she had seen in Sherlock's gaze. Did he know it was there, and not mind revealing it to her, or was he so comfortable in her presence that he let his guard down without noticing?

"The ground rules, Molly. What did you have in mind?"

"Oh! Right!" She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts before speaking again. "Well, first, it might be best if you put some clothes on, Sherlock."

"Nonsense. John has seen me in far less. Next."

" _Fine._ Don't want to play fair, then," she mumbled to herself. She could have sworn she saw the detective smirk. "No more sleeping together. And by that," she hurried on, before Sherlock could interrupt, "I mean sharing a bed. Although, we should probably stay away from anything more… intimate… as well."

"No need to be delicate, Molly. You wish to refrain from intercourse." Molly let out a small squeak, quickly covering her mouth with one hand. "As you are a respectable woman who has had a total of two… well, three, now… sexual partners, you clearly seek an emotional relationship before a physical one."

"So you agree?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes, of course. I would not want to put you into any situations that make you uncomfortable. And I realize the irony of that statement. My behavior towards you in the past has been… a bit not good."

"A bit?" Molly teased, brushing her shoulder against his arm.

"Yes, well…." He met her smile with a small one of his own. Breaking eye contact, Sherlock swallowed and cleared his throat. "Do I also get to dictate terms to our relationship?" Molly nodded and stared down at her hands, twisting nervously in her lap. The gold ring on her ring finger glared back at her. Sherlock reached over and covered her hands with one of his own, stilling the panicky movement.

"Due to the danger in which my acquaintances constantly find themselves, I believe it wise if we kept our marriage out of the public eye. For as long as possible, at least. The vultures who call themselves the media will find out about us eventually." He rubbed her hands soothingly before pulling away.

Molly nodded her head again. She rubbed her eyes with her hands. "Yes, that seems best. I'd rather not be used by your enemies as a means to get to you. Or incur the wrath of your rabid fans." Molly giggled quietly at the confused expression on Sherlock's face. She waved him off. "Oh, never mind. But, yes, I agree with your suggestion."

"Good. Do you have any other stipulations?"

"Well, I…. I know you're used to Mrs. Hudson taking care of you and straightening up after you, but, a marriage should be a partnership. We split the household chores. _And_ ," she added, anticipating the direction of Sherlock's thoughts, "I don't want you asking Mrs. Hudson to do your half of the work, either. She may spoil you like a son, but she's your –"

"Landlady, not my housekeeper," Sherlock finished for her, chuckling. "I understand, Molly."

As if she'd been waiting for an invitation, the subject of their conversation burst into the bedroom, carrying a tea tray loaded with coffee and toast. She was wearing a dark grey dress this morning, in contrast to the frilly, bright green apron worn over it.

"Oh, you're awake! I was hoping to surprise you both! Good morning, dearies! How are the newlyweds this morning?" The elderly woman beamed at Sherlock and set the tray down beside him on the bed. She threw her arms around a startled consulting detective, planting a kiss to his temple. "Sherlock, I've never been more proud of you, even if I was shocked that you brought a woman home! Poor John must be devastated! Not that Molly isn't a lovely choice!" Sherlock chuckled and mumbled something in the woman's ear, but it was too quiet for Molly to hear. Mrs. Hudson pulled back, wiping at her eyes as she smiled at her surrogate son.

When her gaze fell on Molly, however, her eyebrows rose, and her mouth formed a small 'oh'. She appeared as though she wanted to say more but decided against it. The pathologist was far too focused on her grumbling stomach and the enticing aroma of the fresh toast, however, to think much about the landlady's reaction.

"I'll just leave the pair of you to it, then!" she chirped happily as she bounced out as quickly as she had appeared.

"Well, that was…," Molly began, but broke off as she met Sherlock's eye. The pair laughed before turning to the food. Molly reached for a piece of plain toast, hand brushing Sherlock's on the tray. He smirked at her before he went about making her toast (covered in strawberry jam, just as she liked it), setting it on a plate and handing it to her. At the same time, she fixed coffee for the both of them, the pair working in tandem like they had done so many times in the lab at St. Bart's.

They ate in silence, the crunching of toast the only sound in the room, until Molly looked up at Sherlock. She covered her mouth to hide her giggle, but realized her attempt was unsuccessful as Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow at her. "You just have a little something... right… there," she said, pointing to the lower left side of his face. He brushed the area with one finger, but the spot was still visible as he removed his hand.

"No, it's still…. Here, let me…," she sputtered as she made to wipe it away. Her hand lingered a moment longer than necessary as she stared into his deep eyes, more green than blue now. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "There. All gone." She smiled at him briefly before pulling her hand back to pick up her coffee from the bedside table.

Gulping down the liquid, she winced as the hot drink burned her throat. She emptied the cup and stood up, refusing to meet Sherlock's eye as she set her dirtied cup and plate back onto the tray.

"Well, I'd best be getting ready. I do have to be at St. Bart's in an hour." Glancing around, she realized she had no idea where any of her things were. _Where in the…?_

"I believe you will find what you need in the wardrobe on the right side," Sherlock interrupted her thoughts, waving in the general direction of the furniture. He was currently lounging on top of his duvet in nothing but his pants, looking content to stay like that for the remainder of the day. Molly would have grinned if she hadn't been in such a hurry.

Grabbing what she needed, she strode to the door of the bedroom, Sherlock's voice halting her movements. "Molly?" he called inquiringly.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Is it also customary for wedded couples to wear each other's clothing?"

"Hmm?" she asked, not understanding his seemingly random change of topic.

He bent his head towards her, staring at the middle of her body. Molly thought his eyes darkened as he gazed at her, but she quickly squelched that thought. It was quickly replaced by embarrassment as she noticed for the first time that all she had on was a pair of knickers and a button-up shirt. A shirt which definitely did not belong to her.

Molly gasped audibly, her face and neck flushing in mortification. Quickly rushing into the bathroom, she slammed the door behind her, but not before hearing Sherlock's laughter at her discomfort.

XXXXX

After donning her work outfit (one of her most comfortable jumpers and a pair of black trousers) Molly attempted to make herself more presentable. Watching the clock, she opted out of styling her hair, pulling it back instead into her go-to ponytail. She hastily applied light pink lipstick. Deciding she looked as good as possible without being late for work, Molly hesitantly inched open the door and peeked her head out. There was no sign of Sherlock anywhere, so she hurried down the hallway and through the sitting room, grabbing her bag along the way.

She nearly made it to the front door when someone grasped her shoulder, pulling her back. She stifled a groan as she turned, keeping her head down so she didn't have to look at Sherlock.

"Yes, dear?" she mumbled sarcastically, hoping to render the detective speechless long enough for her to escape. Instead, a large hand cupped her jaw, bringing her eyes up to meet his.

"I apologize if I embarrassed you. I was only teasing, Molly. You are one of the people who matters the most to me, and the thought that I have upset you… troubles me." His eyes betrayed his fear that he had distanced her even further.

"It's fine, Sherlock, really. Besides, I'm the one who hijacked your shirt without asking! And when I was making all those demands about keeping our relationship platonic!" She began hyperventilating, unable to stop the stream of words flowing from her mouth.

"Molly!" he called, stopping her nervous rambling. "Don't fret about it. The sight of you in my apparel was not… displeasing." His face lit up in a tiny half-smile. "Although, I am afraid Mrs. Hudson now believes our relationship has progressed much farther than it has."

Molly bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut as she thought back on the encounter with Sherlock's landlady. Her surprised expression now made complete sense. As if summoned by his mistress's distress, Toby wound himself around her legs, offering her comfort by pushing his soft head against her.

"If you are worried about Mrs. Hudson's opinion of you, though there really is no need considering we are _married_ , let me remind you that she did much worse in her past. And, while she does love to gossip, she will be discreet. You needn't concern yourself with that."

Taking a deep breath, Molly nodded, concentrating on slowing her heart rate. She counted backwards from ten before she replied. "Of course, Sherlock. Is there anything else you needed?"

"Y-." _You_. The word hung unspoken between them, that particular memory dangling like a spectre in the back of her mind. She almost believed he was going to say it, that this would be the moment every dream, every fantasy she had ever had about the man before her finally broke free and became reality. "N-no. I just wanted to be sure that we had completed our earlier conversation. We were interrupted in the middle."

 _Oh._ Molly swallowed her disappointment."I think we covered everything we needed to, Sherlock. Don't you?"

She gazed up at him. He had a strange look on his face, as though he wanted to say more but could not find the right words. He blinked at her for several moments before letting out a sigh. "Of course, Molly." She nearly gasped when he leaned forward, placing a lingering kiss to her forehead. Her eyelids drifted shut as he whispered against her skin. "Have a good day at work, Mrs. Holmes."

Pulling away, she absentmindedly ran her fingers over Toby's fur before she rushed out the door, hands shaking as she pulled it shut behind her. Leaning up against it, she laid one hand over her heart, breaths coming in short bursts. The one thought she had as she descended the stairs was that being married to Sherlock Holmes was probably going to kill her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to anyone still reading this story! I know it's been ages, but real life has been very difficult over the past few months, and I haven't been able to write anything. Some days I could barely get out of bed. But here is the long-awaited update, and I hope it met your expectations! Thank you to the lovely MizJoely, T.Z. Townshend, and benbrolioanddudliet (on Tumblr) for looking this over for me! I wasn't too confident about it since it's been so long since I've written anything. Please review, and let me know what you thought! You know I love to get your opinions!
> 
> Hopefully, it won't take quite so long for the next update, but I am starting school again on Monday, so it might still be longer than you (or I) would like!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Married life with the Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to leidibrf, who's been such a sweet and supportive fan, and buffyslaysedward (she knows why).

The first few weeks of married life flew by, and, to Molly's amazement, she and Sherlock acclimated to each other fairly quickly. Several years of working cohesively at her lab translated easily into living together. After some minor mishaps (Molly shuddered every time she remembered opening the freezer to put away groceries the first time), the couple fell into a comfortable routine of sorts.

Molly, whose schedule at St. Bart's was much more predictable than Sherlock's ever-evolving array of casework, woke at precisely 7:45am. She did not sleep quite as well as she had in Sherlock's bed (and Sherlock's arms), but she attributed that to the fact that she had been exceedingly exhausted after their adventure in Las Vegas. It most certainly did not have anything to do with the safety she felt when surrounded by Sherlock's scent.

Several mornings, however, she had opened her eyes to find Sherlock perched on a chair at the foot of her bed, fingers steepled as he puzzled over some query in his mind palace. He always looked so absorbed that she refused to disturb him, and she had no idea if Sherlock even realized she knew of this habit of his.

After a quick shower and breakfast, Molly would rush off to the morgue, sparing Toby a small scratch behind the ears. At the end of her shift, she would take the tube back to Baker Street, ready to kick back on the sofa and watch bad shows on the telly.

In Sherlock, she found a surprisingly considerate flat mate. He was up at all hours of the day and night, but at least attempted to keep the noise to a minimum when she was trying to sleep. (She wondered if all of John's complaining had finally taken residence in that gigantic brain of his.)

The kitchen was constantly stocked with her favorite edibles, though she suspected that Mrs. Hudson had more to do with this than Sherlock himself. The elderly woman remained mum on the subject, no matter how much Molly pestered her, and no evidence could be found to support Molly's suspicions, so she let it slide.

Sherlock and Toby had also come to an understanding. Sherlock ensured that the feline was fed and watered, and Toby would curl up in Sherlock's lap while he pondered over his latest case. Sherlock told her that Toby made a better thinking companion than his skull, as Toby was much more expressive, and his purrs were conducive to deductive reasoning. Molly knew he really just liked how soft Toby's fur was when he ran his fingers over it.

Either way, she was happy that her two men were getting along.

Sherlock, for his part, also reaped the benefits of their atypical union. Molly understood him in a way few others had. Instead of bemoaning his scientific inquiries, as both John and Mrs. Hudson had been known to do, she actively encouraged them, often participating in his exploits. It was normal for visitors to 221B to let themselves into the flat, only to find the pair huddled over a microscope slide or brightly-colored flask.

One thing Molly was particularly adamant about was that Sherlock always inform her when he was going to be away on a case. She didn't want to worry about him if he failed to return to the flat overnight. Sherlock took to texting her daily when he was away, keeping her updated on his progress and where he was.

If Molly also noticed that Sherlock seemed distracted, she recognized that, whatever was bothering him, he needed to tell her in his own time.

Molly had compiled a list of household chores early on in their partnership, withholding spare body parts unless Sherlock completed the tasks assigned to him. He grumbled, certainly, but even he could not deny that 221B felt more like a home with Molly there than it had in quite some time.

To outsiders, their marriage might have appeared odd, peculiar even, but the three inhabitants of 221B paid them no mind.

XXXXX

Molly had been nervous about telling their friends and family about their drug-induced matrimony, but, overall, everyone reacted kindly and supportively, agreeing to keep the marriage under wraps for the time being.

Mycroft, though he already knew about the wedding, was one of the first to come and offer "congratulations." He and Sherlock had stared at each other, conversing without words in the way only siblings can, when the elder Holmes finally sighed and turned to Molly. He spoke quickly, only two well-chosen sentences, but Molly accepted it as Mycroft's approval, reluctant though it may be, of her marriage to his brother. ( _"Good luck,_ Doctor _Hooper. You're going to need it."_ )

Mary Watson had laughed at Sherlock's discomfort, but quickly enveloped him in a warm embrace. She hugged the new Mrs. Holmes as well; however, a few words whispered into Molly's ear left the pathologist both confused and mildly curious. She left with a knowing glint in her eye. ( _"I'm so happy for you, Molly. But if he ever does anything to hurt you, I know people."_ )

Greg Lestrade's reaction was perhaps the most surprising. Molly had dreaded revealing their wedded state to him, as she knew he had fancied her for a bit a few years back. Instead of the crestfallen look she expected, however, Greg practically bounced for joy, encircling both Sherlock and Molly in a bear hug. ( _"About time, Sherlock! I knew you loved each other!"_ _"Greg, we're not actually_ together _together. This was just the best option."_ _"Oh." "Who's Greg?"_ )

As Molly's mother was currently out of the country on holiday, she had to inform her over the telephone. Eleanor Hooper expressed her disappointment at not being able to attend her only child's wedding, as Molly feared she would, but stated that, as long as Molly was happy, she was, too. Molly didn't have the heart to tell her of her arrangement with Sherlock, electing instead to suffer through her predicament alone.

XXXXX

The most harrowing reveal did not occur until Sherlock and Molly had been back in London for nearly five weeks. On a Thursday, she returned from work, only to find a cream-colored envelope lying on the kitchen table, her name penned on the front in flawless calligraphy. (It never occurred to her until later to question how it had gotten there.)

Hands shaking, she retrieved a letter opener (because the gold writing was far too beautiful to callously rip it open) and carefully extracted the contents.

' _Dear Dr. Hooper,'_ it read,

' _Or should I call you Dr. Holmes, now? Either way, I am so thrilled that you have joined our family. I regret that we have not had a chance to converse since your impulsive nuptials to my son, and hope to remedy this situation. Please join me and my husband for supper this Sunday, September 21, 2014. William, of course, should tag along as well! I can't wait to meet you, dear! You must be an extraordinary young woman, if my son has chosen you as the keeper of his heart! I shall see you soon!_

_Fondest regards,_

_Violet Holmes'_

Molly sunk down onto one of the chairs surrounding the table, wincing slightly when she accidentally sat on a spare slide. Brushing it onto the floor, she slumped into the seat, staring at the words on the page.

Sherlock's mother wanted to meet her? Based on Sherlock and Mycroft, she had always imagined their mother to be elegant, affluent, and refined. Judging by the letter she had just received, her assumptions had been spot-on. How did one go about impressing a woman such as that?

And most importantly, would she, Molly Hooper, be able to pull it off?

XXXXX

Molly was so caught up in her thoughts that she failed to realize when Sherlock zipped into the flat, slamming the door shut as he made his way inside.

"Molly?" He received no answer. "Molly?!" he called again, louder and more insistent this time.

Striding through the flat, he finally found her in the kitchen, gazing off into space. "Molly!"

Her head jerked up, and she blinked rapidly as if bringing herself back from some far-away place. "Y-yes, Sherlock?" she stuttered softly.

"Are you all right?" he brusquely asked, not waiting for an answer before he continued. "I just thought of a way we could finally use those feet you brought home the other day…."

Her mind drifted again at hearing him call 221B her home so casually, but she quickly brought herself back to the present. He was going on about some experiment when she interrupted him. "Sherlock!"

He stopped talking abruptly, peering down at her through his lashes. "What?"

Instead of replying she held out the envelope, urging for him to take it. As he read through the note, one eyebrow rose comically, and she had never seen him look more like Mycroft than in that moment. The thought brought a small smile to her lips, which was quickly dropped as she remembered the invitation, her anxiety returning full-force.

Finally, Sherlock finished reading and set the paper back on the table. Taking the seat across from her, he steepled his hands and scrutinized her over his fingers. "Ah, yes," he spoke at last. "I wondered when she would finally ask to meet you."

Her brows shot up in surprise. That was all he had to say? "So… what do you think?" she asked hesitantly, brown eyes meeting his for the first time since he'd walked through the door.

"Well, nothing for it, then. We'll have to go. There's no arguing with her once she's made up her mind."

Molly rose to her feet and began pacing vigorously. Well, as much as was possible in the small, cramped kitchen. "Fine, Sherlock. But what should I wear? Do you think it would be better to leave my hair down, or should I put it up to look more professional? You've told her I'm a pathologist, right? Does she think I'm some odd girl who likes to stare at dead bodies all day? Oh, who am I kidding, she's _your_ mum, I doubt she'll care about that _._ What _have_ you said about me, exactly? And what-"

She would have continued her rambling, but Sherlock cut her off with a hand over her mouth. He laid the other gently on her shoulder. "Molly," he spoke calmly, waiting for her to meet his gaze. "Breathe. She will adore you. Any woman who could convince me to marry is already a league ahead of the others in her opinion."

Molly nodded, relaxed by his words and the soothing timbre of his voice.

Sensing that her diatribe was over, Sherlock removed his hands and walked towards the doorway. Just before he left, however, he paused. "Wear that yellow sundress, Molly. It's her favorite color, and you always look lovely in that dress."

And then he was striding off without giving her a chance to respond.

XXXXX

Molly tried not to let her nerves get the better of her, especially when Sherlock assured her that she had nothing to worry about. Still, she trembled in her seat as they drove to the Holmes' cottage.

The scenery was absolutely breathtaking, and she focused on that as she and Sherlock rode in comfortable silence.

Sherlock turned off the main road, following a narrow path to a lovely country home nestled behind just beyond row of trees. It was bigger than the average cottage, to be sure, but still not as large as she had envisioned based on her knowledge of Sherlock and his upbringing.

Bringing the car to a stop, Sherlock switched off the ignition and stepped out, hurrying around to Molly's door. He had opened it for her before she had a chance to, although she suspected he was doing that more for his mother's sake than for hers. A man always behaved his best when he believed his mother was watching.

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her roughly to her feet, banging the door shut as he practically dragged her to the front stoop. _To be fair,_ Molly thought to herself, _it's probably the most efficient method of getting me up here._

Sherlock rapped on the door loudly three times, in rapid succession. It was opened almost instantaneously by a short, white-haired woman with Sherlock's eyes. They twinkled with mirth as she beamed at the couple standing in front of her, one half cowering slightly behind the other.

Molly smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress self-consciously (and, yes, she had worn the yellow one like Sherlock suggested), shifting from one foot to the other.

"Hello, Mummy," he muttered, gazing at Molly out of the corner of his eye.

She bit her lip to hide her smirk, catching his eye while his mother wasn't paying attention to her. "Mummy?" she mouthed, chuckling to herself as he rolled his eyes.

The woman patted Sherlock's cheek affectionately before pushing him aside to grab Molly's hands in her own. "Well aren't you a pretty little thing! You must be Molly! I'm so happy to finally meet you!" she exclaimed, squeezing tightly.

Molly bobbed her head in acknowledgement. She attempted a smile as she was once more pulled along, this time by the most jovial person she had ever seen in her life. Her anxiety lessened just a bit.

As they entered the parlor, the group was greeted by a sweet-looking elderly man, his dimples prominent as he kissed the back of Molly's hand. She grinned back at him.

After introductions were out of the way, Molly and Mrs. Holmes ( _"Call me Violet, dear!"_ ) retired to the kitchen to prepare supper (which Molly quickly realized was just a way to ply her for information without the men interfering), and Sherlock conversed with his father in his study.

Once the food was ready (a simple meal of grilled chicken and potatoes), the foursome gathered around the dining table, Molly and Sherlock on one side, their counterparts on the other.

The group was silent for a while, only the sounds of chewing interrupting the quiet, until Violet set down her fork with a loud clank.

"So, Molly, Sherlock tells me you work at St. Bart's hospital. Is that right?"

"Yes, ma'am," she replied, after swallowing down the piece of chicken in her mouth. "I'm a pathologist there. That's actually how Sherlock and I met."

"I deduced as much. He's mentioned you several times, says that you're the only competent pathologist they have on staff." Molly's head whipped around, only to find Sherlock staring intently at his plate, his cheeks a vibrant shade of scarlet.

"It'll be nice to have another doctor in the family!" Sherlock's dad remarked amiably, grabbing his wife's hand. "My Violet was a brilliant mathematician, you know!"

Molly's eyes widened in surprise. She really shouldn't be shocked, she realized. Sherlock and Mycroft had to have inherited their genius from somewhere. _Too bad they didn't receive her temperament along with it,_ she thought bitterly.

"Oh, Siger, stop it!" Violet brushed off her husband's praise, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. "So, Molly, back to the subject at hand. You and Sherlock have known each other for a long time, then?" She nodded, urging the older woman to continue. "That's good. That's very… good."

She went silent, picking at her nails. "It's such a shame Siger and I couldn't make it to your wedding, though..."

"Violet-," Siger cautioned, at the same moment that Sherlock exasperatedly exclaimed, "Mummy!"

Molly, uncomfortable with the sudden topic change, grabbed her glass of wine, downing a large gulp.

"Oh, I understand, of course! Heat of the moment, and all…." She sighed theatrically before meeting her son's eyes. "But, Sherlock, you know how much I was looking forward to this!"

Sherlock would have rolled his eyes at his mother's dramatics, but Molly stopped him with a hand on his knee. He exhaled slowly. "I know, Mummy, and… I'm sorry." He grimaced as though the words caused him physical pain. "We said 'I do' before we realized what was happening." He failed to mention that neither of them could recall much of it, either.

"I forgive you, Sherlock. I remember what it was like to be young and in love," She gazed adoringly at her husband, "and I know how hard it is for you to articulate your feelings. Molly seems to be so good for you!"

Violet reached across the table, grasping Molly's hand and squeezing. Molly, relieved that the awkward conversation appeared to be finished, took another sip to steady her nerves.

"So!" Violet clapped her hands gleefully. "Grandchildren!"

Molly choked on her wine.

XXXXX

Molly and Sherlock stumbled out of the cab into the chilly, late-November air. Sherlock threw the cabbie a few too many bills before shutting the door and entwining his fingers with Molly's.

The pair were returning from a night out at the pub with the Watsons. John and Mary had "insisted" they take Sherlock and Molly out to celebrate the Holmes' three-month wedding anniversary. While both detective and pathologist had grumbled, they were secretly pleased to have friends who cared about them so much.

What was supposed to be a pleasant evening of conversation with friends quickly evolved into a competition when John bet Sherlock that he could finish a beer faster than the consulting detective. Sherlock, of course, took the bait, and the two women laughingly watched as their husbands chugged the cold liquid.

Molly was finishing her third glass of wine when she and Mary decided to bring the night to an close. Both couples had hailed a cab and went their separate ways.

Sherlock finally managed to insert the key into the lock, opening the door with a flourish that was more attractive than it should have been considering his inebriated state. Neither noticed the bright flash that lit up the street behind them.

Ushering Molly inside in front of him, the two staggered up the stairs to 221B, giggling all the while.

After removing their coats, scarves, and shoes, Molly followed Sherlock into the kitchen, looking around dazedly. Sherlock gazed at Molly thoughtfully for a moment before pivoting around and searching through one of the top cabinets. "Aha!" he called out victoriously before plopping an unopened bottle of vodka in front of Molly with a bang. "Care for a nightcap, Mrs. Holmes, to commemorate three months of wedded... bless or whatever it's called?"

She grinned mischievously.

One shot turned into two, and, the next thing Molly knew, she was sitting in Sherlock's lap on the sofa as they tried to determine the correlation between flame exposure and burn pattern on human skin. She knew those spare fingers would come in 'handy' eventually. Molly giggled at her own pun.

Sherlock's arm was wrapped dangerously low around her waist, and his chin was propped on her shoulder. She could feel his breath against her neck every time he exhaled.

Molly was concentrating extremely hard, biting her lip as she held a digit over the Bunsen burner with shaky hands. She cursed when she dropped it, watching as it rolled off the table onto the floor. Sherlock's chest rumbled against her back as he chuckled in her ear.

"Perhaps we should call it a night, Molly," he whispered, his deep baritone sending a thrill through her entire body. He reached around her to extinguish the flame.

Maybe it was the alcohol adding some liquid courage, or maybe she had it inside of her all along, but Molly suddenly felt a surge of bravery overtake her. This could be one of the best or worst decisions she'd ever made (ignoring their night in Vegas, of course). She turned awkwardly, nearly falling off the sofa, until she was straddling Sherlock, their faces inches apart.

She realized she'd never seen his eyes from this close before. They were a startling combination of blue and green, as beautiful and mysterious as the man himself.

"Sherlock," she breathed, before one final ounce of daring convinced her to close the gap between their mouths.

Their lips brushed for a mere instant, a shadow of a kiss, before Molly pulled away, eyes wide in shock and embarrassment. Sherlock remained stock still, unblinking.

"S-sorry, Sh-sherlock," she mumbled, trying to remove herself from his lap, but Sherlock's hand grasped the back of her neck, bringing her near once more.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, my Molly," he murmured against her lips, and hauled her back to him for another, much more satisfying, kiss.

Sherlock's hands were everywhere: in her hair, cupping her face, running down her spine. She moaned in contentment as she pushed her body closer to his, their tongues battling for dominance. He groaned when her fingers found residence in his hair, tugging lightly.

After what felt like a lifetime (but not nearly long enough- she would continue snogging this man forever if she could), Sherlock disconnected their mouths. He swept a few stray locks of hair behind her ear with one hand, the other caressing her left cheekbone.

He gazed at her reverently, and the raw vulnerability she recognized in his eyes floored her. Maybe the alcohol was affecting him, too. She felt the flicker of hope ignite anew in her heart.

"Molly, I-," he began, but was interrupted by the tinkling of his mobile, alerting them to the arrival of an incoming call. His head fell to her shoulder as he muttered a string of expletives into her skin.

Molly stood up, picking up the offending item and handing it to Sherlock. "You should answer that. It might be important. I need to use the loo, anyway. We'll talk when I get back."

She hurried to the bathroom, hearing him speak tersely to whomever had interrupted their moment. And what a moment it was! Molly grinned foolishly to herself as she replayed the encounter.

Once she was finished, she quickly returned to the sitting room, surprised to find the room empty. "Sherlock?" she called, expecting to find him in the kitchen, but he wasn't there, either.

She searched the entire flat, but found no sign of the consulting detective.

When she realized his signature Belstaff was missing as well, she finally sunk down into the sofa and let her tears fall.

XXXXX

"Where are we, Sherlock?" John Watson asked as his friend knocked on the door of a modest house in the south of France.

Before the detective could answer, however, the door was opened by the last person John Watson had expected to see.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes. I was hoping you'd turn up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the time frame is a little confusing, I'm sorry. I tried to make it as clear as possible. Dinner with the Holmes takes place five weeks into their marriage in September. The Watson's take them out in November, on their 3-month anniversary. Also, sorry for the cliffhanger, but that was always where this chapter was going to end.
> 
> I know it's been forever since I updated this story, but, as you can see, this chapter was more of a filler, and I didn't know exactly what I wanted to take place. Writer's block is awful, let me tell you.
> 
> I appreciate everyone who's read, commented, and favorited this story, but please don't send me rude messages or reviews hounding me to update. I have to be in the write frame of mind (I saw the opportunity and I took it), and messages like that only make me feel worse. Please do review, though! Any comments, constructive or otherwise, are extremely beneficial to me as a writer!

**Author's Note:**

> I also wanted to say that I do not think Irene is prettier than Molly. Both are beautiful actresses in their own rights. That being said, I do think Molly would compare herself to Irene, and this story is going to be largely from her perspective. Please leave a review and let me know what you thought! If you see any errors, please let me know so I can fix them! I love every single person who reads my stories!


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